Fate - Red Chalice
by Swordomatic
Summary: Seven Servants. Seven Masters. One Wish. One War. But things change when the Angels of Death are in play. The future is unclear, the path is not certain, but one thing is clear: The Emperor Protects.
1. Prologue

The pieces were set. The cards were played. The court would be Fuyuki City; at the moment, it was just Fuyuki, a patch of land owned by the Tohsaka family, rich in leylines and away from the influences of the Church.

All three founders of the Ritual were present; Nagato Tohsaka, who owned the land. Justeaze Lizrich von Einzbern, who came up with the Grail concept, forged its alchemical procedures, and would ultimately become the first Grail vessel. Makiri Zolgen, who would conceptualise and create the Command Seals. Various observers were present, all Magi of other, uninvolved families, and all hopeful participants. Zelretch, the Kaleidoscope, was present to witness the event. Beside him, a tanned man underneath a hood crossed his arms, and observed as Justeaze sacrificed herself to become the Grail.

The objective was to reveal Akasha, and regain the Third Magic, one of the True Sorceries left in the World, through the actualisation of an omnipotent wish-granting engine borne of thaumaturgy and sacrificed, powered by the souls of heroes from the Throne, within the Root itself. All that had to be done was the sacrifice of seven Servants, and the making of the wish. Only one wish could be granted, but all that meant was that only one family would reach Akasha. Simple, if crude.

Both Zelretch and the tanned stranger knew that there would be _five_ Holy Grail Wars, and not once would a wish be granted. Zelretch knew, for this is not the first time he has witnessed its foundation. Being the Kaleidoscope, he wandered the Multiverse for personal amusement, and generally these incidents resolved themselves. The tanned stranger knew… because he was much the same.

Now, he was a nameless entity, an enigma, a spellcaster barely worth recognition by traditional Magi. Handsome, certainly, with strong features. Fit, with a chiseled physique underneath his baggy robes. Commander of mighty powers indeed. But not in Thaumaturgy. Now, he was nobody.

Forty thousand years in the future, he would be known as the God-Emperor of Mankind.

And, Zelretch being Zelretch, he was acquaintances with a man that would, in the distant future, become akin to a God.

To his knowledge, this is the first time _he_ intervened. Most of the time, the man who would become Emperor was content to let the ritual pass by, and let history run its course. Perhaps this was a rare occasion where he would intervene. Perhaps it was not the Emperor at all.

Either way, Zelretch grinned, it would be something to see.

 _Just what is it did you add to the ritual?_

 _A few ideas into Justeaze's head. The ritual will not just access the Throne of Heroes._

 _Oh?_ While all others were enraptured by the spectacle of the Einzbern sacrifice, the Kaleidoscope's lips curled up slightly. _What other places, my Lord Emperor?_

 _Don't patronise me like that, Schweinorg. It is forty thousand years too early, and I dislike it all the same._

 _And yet you let them call you that all the same._

 _What other choice did I have? No matter._ He sighed, softly. _The Holy Grail will also access a psychic beacon of great power, though one that does not exist yet. The same one that sustains my consciousness right now._

 _You linked the Holy Grail to the Golden Throne?_

 _Yes._

 _You realise that, assuming things carry on as usual, the Grail will become corrupted in the 3rd War?_

 _I've taken it into consideration. The Golden Throne is where the greatest heroes of mankind - and only mankind - are taken to rest. Most of them anyway,_ he shrugs. _Some get eaten by daemons before I manage to save them. Almost all of them, save for my Space Marines, are saints. Holy figures. Holy figures, who should prove to be capable of purifying the Grail in the act of summoning._

 _You've put thought into this._

 _My end goal demands it. If the Grail truly is an omnipotent wish granting device prior to its corruption, then the wish I and my saints and angels make will save the lives of billions._

 _You hope for much._

 _Hope, and faith. Two things I have in great supply, which is good because I have nothing else._

 _So, what will ensure that Servants from the Golden Throne are summoned instead of Servants from the Throne of Heroes, which they will undoubtedly be more familiar with?_

 _I cheated. The Grail does take catalysts into account, but generally speaking unless it is a very powerful catalyst it will not call upon that servant. In addition, it prioritizes summons from the Golden Throne over the Throne of Heroes. Servants born of the Golden Throne and of the Throne of Heroes are comparable in power, however, so there should be no problem on that front._

 _My my. You rigged the system._

 _I rigged the system._

 _You are an awful person. I respect that._

 _Sadly, I cannot observe the fruits of my labour on this side. The strain is becoming immense, and my greater self is splintering further._ The stranger looks at the Wizard Marshall, and nods at him. _I trust you shall keep an eye on it for me?_

 _The brat Nagato has the designs for the Jeweled Sword. I will keep up from time to time, at least._

 _You old rascal. Don't die too early._

In the blink of an eye, the future Emperor vanished.

And seconds later, so did Justeaze's sacrifice.

Numerous men and women winced and looked at their hands, and found articulate red tattoos carved into them.

"So begins the greatest magic of our time," Zolgen - now Zouken - snorts. "The Holy Grail War begins."


	2. Chapter 1

**_Fate/Red Chalice_**

 ** _+Thought of the Day: There is no greater wish than to serve the Emperor+_**

* * *

 _The landscape is ablaze._

 _I couldn't_

 _People are dying._

 _I couldn't save them_

 _Everything is covered in mud._

 _I couldn't save them from the mud_

 _It_ _ **burns**_ _-_

"Senpai? Senpai, wake up."

Emiya Shirou wakes up dripping with sweat, snapping upright with a heart pounding in his chest. It feels stuffy, and his overalls cling annoyingly to his chest and back. Something is blocking the windy draft that came through the door - the 'something' being Sakura Matou, a friend who, somehow, had purple hair and eyes. He would ask, but he really doesn't care. Sakura is Sakura.

He really should, however, stop falling asleep inside his workshop. The place was pleasantly warm at night, but utterly insufferable in the day.

"Good morning, Sakura."

"Senpai," Sakura calls out again, bending over so their faces were close together. "Are you awake now?"

"Ah, yeah." He flushes red and glances away. Sakura is Sakura, but she's been growing up of late. Puberty has been kind to her, and even he finally noticed. "Sorry to trouble you like this."

"Its fine, senpai. I went ahead and prepared breakfast, so take a shower and we can eat."

"You cooked? Sakura, today was _my_ turn."

She smiles, tilting her head slightly. "It's not problem, senpai, Really, I don't mind."

Dull pain throbs at the back of his left hand, though Shirou hardly felt it with the adrenaline still in his system. "Well, then I'll take care of dinner tonight."

Her eyes widen. "Senpai, tonight was my turn…"

"You took care of breakfast, didn't you?" He smirks, and rises up onto his legs. "I'll wash up in a minute, don't worry about me."

Sakura nods, and he left for the bathroom.

He is Emiya Shirou, and he is fifteen this year. He has red hair and gold eyes, which not many people in Fuyuki have. He lives in an old inn his old man bought ten years ago, and from time to time his teacher and Sakura drop by for food.

That is, they drop by everyday.

Fuji-nee just wants food, since she can't cook. Imagine that, a grown woman who can't cook.

Though, his dad couldn't cook either.

He washes up in fifteen minutes, coming out while still buttoning his uniform on. Sakura had prepared quite the spread, and already Taiga Fujimura was eating away.

"Shirou!" She points accusingly at the youth with chopsticks, grains of rice stuck around her mouth. "I can't believe you! You woke up late, and made me make Sakura make breakfast for you! How could you?!"

"So _you_ made Sakura cook?" He sighs, one hand at his head while he sat down. "Sheesh, Fuji-nee, it was only five minutes."

"Five minutes is a long time on an empty stomach! Albert Einstein proved it with the Theory of Relativity!"

"I don't think Einstein was that concerned with having breakfast on time, Fuji-nee."

"Now, now," Sakura chuckles, joining them with a piping hot omelette, "Food's all here, so let's just eat."

"Alright, Sakura, but only because you asked," Taiga says in an overly sweet voice, while simultaneously pointing fingers at Shirou that said 'this isn't remotely over my young padawan'.

Sheesh, Fuji-nee was such a child sometimes. Hasn't it been years since she graduated?

"Fine, fine. Thanks for the food, Sakura, and sorry for waking up late."

Sakura just smiles, and Shirou reached for the soy sauce. He liked soy sauce with his yams. It brought flavour to the blandness of yams.

When he took his first mouthful, he learned too late that it was not soy sauce.

You don't put worcestershire sauce on grated yams. That was sick and wrong and monstrous. It was anathema to everything Emiya Shirou stood for.

To prove it, he let the chopsticks fall dramatically from his hand. Very dramatically.

"S-Senpai?"

This was unbelievable. Inconceivable. Diabolical. Only an utter _monster_ would do such a-

...Of course it was her.

"Fuji-nee, what did you _do._ "

"Payback for yesterday!" She jumps to her feet and poses, like some sort of sentai ranger. "Have you learned your lesson?!"

"What did I even-"

She swings forward, and bops him on the head with a rolled up poster. _"Have you?!"_

"Oi oi, what's with the racket?"

The three of them turn, and find Emiya Kiritsugu rubbing at his eyes, yawning lightly with his other hand behind his back.

That was odd. Dad never woke up before ten, and usually woke up _after_ noon. Shirou usually had to keep brunch in the fridge for him, because _he_ couldn't cook _either._

"K-K-Kiritsugu-san… I can explain!" She points, frantically, at Shirou. "I have to discipline him! Yes! As one of my students, his discipline and conduct is my business! He must be _punished._ "

"...Sensei?"

"Taiga-chan, please." He sits down opposite of Sakura, at his usual seat by the table, smiling lazily like he usually does. "Don't hit Shirou on the head. He's struggling with his schoolwork as is."

That was a damn lie and everyone knew it. Shirou wasn't the most stellar student, but he was doing better than most.

"...Sorry, Kiritsugu-san."

Fujimura Taiga shrinks into her seat and continues eating at a more sedate, if still furious and possibly risky speed. Within minutes, she finishes her rice, her tea, all of the fish, and shoots back up onto her feet. "Anyways, you two, I have tests to mark before school starts, so I'll be going off first. Don't tire Kiritsugu-san out while I'm gone!"

Sakura laughs nervously and Shirou just shoots her dirty looks while she ran off to her scooter. Kiritsugu just smiles, like an old man watching over youngsters.

"...Senpai, tea?"

"So, dad." Receiving the tea with a smile and a nod, Shirou turns to his carefree father. They looked nothing alike - Kiritsugu had black hair and black eyes - but most people just assumed he took after his mother. "What are you doing up so early?"

"Mm? Oh, Raiga-san wanted me to come over by noon for something."

"Another job?" Raiga Fujimura, the grandfather of the whirling tornado of energy that was Fujimura Taiga, was leader of one of the Yakuza groups operating in Fuyuki City. Apparently, in the past Kiritsugu and Raiga were acquaintances, while Kiritsugu was still travelling worldwide participating in various humanitarian efforts. Now that he was living in Fuyuki, the two of them struck up a business agreement.

Raiga stood on the wrong side of the law, which bothered Shirou. But as a person, he wasn't terrible. In fact, Shirou might call him a good person. A hero of justice, in his own way, bringing law and order to the turbulent underworld of crime and sin.

"Not this time; he wants me to show him how to use a smartphone."

"You know how to use a smartphone?" It was little known fact, but Shirou knew that his father was once a Magus. A spellcaster, to be specific, capable of channelling thaumaturgy through the magic circuits in his soul and enacting impossible miracles in the world.

Magi also tended to ignore technology out of principle and time constraints, so most of them were actual decades behind the rest of the world. Some couldn't even figure landlines out. It boggled the mind.

As if on cue, Kiritsugu whips out a new phone from the folds of his robe.

Father and son look at each other for a few seconds, the clock ticking away on the top of the wall.

"...No, really, you know how to use a smartphone?"

"...Shirou, I taught _you_." He sighs, only slightly exasperated and mostly amused. "I'm not _that_ old."

"Old enough that you're semi-retired and hang out with grandfathers of grown women."

"When it comes to Taiga-chan," Kiritsugu smirks, "I wouldn't say she's a 'grown woman'. Speaking off, what did you do?"

"Why do you assume I did something to her?"

This time, Sakura speaks up. "Senpai, you know Fujimura-sensei doesn't cause mischief unless provoked."

"She really does," both Emiya men reply, as one.

"W-Well she doesn't switch sauce labels unless provoked!"

"...I called her 'Tiger'."

"Ah." Kiritsugu nods sagely. "I was wrong. She should have hit you on the head harder."

"D-Dad!"

"E-Emiya-san!"

"You only have yourself to blame, Shirou." He sniffs the air, and blanched. "Even if it _was_ the worcestershire sauce. You know how she reacts when people who aren't me do it."

"That seems… unfair, Emiya-san."

"The world is unfair, dear Matou-san." He sips at his tea, and let the news play behind him. "Alright, you two should get going. I'll take care of cleaning up. Be careful, Shirou, there have been gas attacks recently and you're working tonight."

"I'll be fine," he replies, already throwing his bag over his shoulder. "I always check the gas. Take care, dad."

Breakfast had, adventure finished and goodbyes said, Shirou and Sakura both leave for Homurahara Academy.

And once they leave, Emiya Kiritsugu frowns, returning once more - but only slightly - to the mentality that framed the Magus Killer.

"Its starting again… And fifty years too soon."

* * *

"Oi, Sakura! Come here for a second!"

Through the sea of students flowing through the gates of Homurahara, Shirou spots a head of curly blue hair through uncountable brunettes and raven-haired students, male _and_ female. The voice cut through the air with known smugness and arrogance, and Shirou bristles slightly at simply hearing it.

Considering who it is, it's hard not to.

Even if he used to be a friend. Even if he kind of still is, in a way, in spite of all that's happened.

"Ah, n-nii-san." Sakura hurries over to her older brother through the shifting tides of school uniforms and hurrying teenagers, and Shirou moved to keep up with her. It wasn't hard; Sakura had purple hair. It wasn't exactly invisible.

Both Matou siblings had distinctive hair colors, but Shirou knows that Shinji dyes _his_ hair, for some nebulous reason. Maybe he thinks it helps him attract girls; frighteningly, considering the fanclub that seems to hover around him all day, even through class, it might actually _work._

Finally he catches up to Sakura, standing before the Archery Club. He used to be a member, until just recently. Hopefully Mitsuzuri wasn't around. "Ah, good morning Shinji."

"Hm?" Shinji sneers, looking at Shirou over his nose. "Good morning, Emiya. What are you doing here, in the morning? You quit. Unless you wish to admire my flawless form?"

"Shirou was always the better shot, Mister _Vice-Captain._ Like a ghost that haunts the range, Captain Ayako Mitsuzuri appears right behind him, frowning.

"What?! When did you-"

"Morning, Emiya. Wanna do the daily song and dance?"

"Not today, Mitsuzuri. Issei wanted me to help him with some stuff before class."

"Shame," she sighs, hands on her hips. "It gets tiring bothering you everyday, you know?"

Heh. Sorry about that, Mitsuzuri, but with work and chores I hardly have time to sleep. Maybe in a few months?"

"What if I keep bothering you every day for the next few months?"

"Then maybe in a few years."

She laughs at the joke, but the both of them know Shirou means it. Well, half of it. "How cruel, Emiya. Alright then, I won't hold you back."

"Tch. Sakura," Shinji says, turning to Sakura with a deep scowl, "Come straight home tonight. The old man wants you to do something for him."

"I... okay." She turns, sorrowfully, to Shirou, and he responds in the only way he can.

"Its fine, Sakura." He grins, and feels warm when she seems to relax. "I'll cook up a big feast tomorrow then. Shinji, do you want to come?"

"Since when have I wanted to come over to your stupid old place, Emiya?" Shirou distinctly remembers Shinji staying over for a week a few years back; he holds his tongue. "Get out of my face. Club's starting soon and I have better things to do than laugh at your ugly mug."

Shirou turns away, showing no emotion. Their relationship has been strained for a while, and there was no point trying to mend fences. "I'll see you in class."

Without bothering for a response, he heads off for the School Council Office.

* * *

She hated mornings. With every fiber of her being, every inch of her soul, every iota of prana that resonates within her circuits, she _despises_ this construct of Gaia that calls itself 'time before 10am'. It is unreal. Mankind was not meant to operate so early in the morning.

Tohsaka Rin does not know her Origin - she never intends to, and her existence as an Average One is good enough for her - but if she cared to find out, it would likely be a dual Origin of 'Hates' and 'Mornings'. But she digresses.

Here, in the school campus, she is queen. She is the idol. She is the unreachable utopia, one that can only be reached in dreams - and sometimes not even then. And this pleases her immensely, for it means that her hard work has paid off, and that no one at all will bother her.

Which is good, because she woke up an hour early today because all the clocks went _crazy_ when she opened up the basement, and right now she is ever so slightly _absolutely livid._

Mornings and Tohsaka Rin do not mix.

"Tohsaka..."

She bristles ever so slightly, and it is only her own innate elegance and grace that keeps her from dropping her bag and introducing Ryuudo Issei to his beloved newly-wedded spouse; _the ceiling._

She looked at the President, and smiled at him brightly, like the sun. "Good morning, Mr. President. Working hard?"

"Harder than you," He huffs. "What are you doing here so early, when you are part of the notorious Go-Home Club?"

She shrugged. Not like he was ever going to find out she accidentally her alarm clock an hour forward. "I felt like it. Is being early a crime now?"

Issei opened his mouth to retort, but the classroom door behind him opened first. "Issei, I fixed it."

"Oh, Emiya." The way he blushed slightly - only slightly, though, anyone that wasn't her wouldn't have noticed - was pretty damning, but Rin decided to be magnanimous, even in light of the criminality of being awake an hour early. Curse the sun and its terrible majesty. "I'm sorry, I asked you to help, but you ended up doing everything."

"Story of my life," Emiya Shirou laughs. "The next one?"

"In the A/V room. It's been acting up lately, and I think it might have finally exhausted its lifespan."

"Well, if so I can't do anything. Getting a new one would be easier."

"Yes, but the budget for the non-sports clubs has been tight recently, so…"

Rin rolled her eyes and moved on. Oh Issei, being coy. If she didn't know better, she'd say he was a tsundere.

Eh, she doesn't want to bother with it right now. Getting a canned coffee and getting to class is her top priority now.

"I got it. I'll check it out at lunch."

Something feels off in the atmosphere, actually. Its rubbing her the wrong way.

"Thank you, Emiya."

Almost… almost like...

"Ah, you're up early, Tohsaka."

She glances back, but Shirou has already moved on. Weird. Is that how he says hello to the girls in his life? Agh, she can't think straight in the morning...

Rounding the corner up the stairs, a hypothetical pin drops in her head and sets it turning.

She felt something. She definitely felt something. It was faint, but it was _there._

It was foreign prana.

There is another Magus in the school. But who?

And how did they slip under her radar?

* * *

The magic circle was set, painted with the blood of children. The ritual was conducted at the very peak of his power - noon, when the sun is at its highest point - and all conditions nominal. The command seals are branded on his left forearm, three swirls around an empty spot. He sits upon a leyline within Fuyuki City, one that resonates strongly with the legend.

His name is Atram Galiast, and he shall summon the mightiest Servant of all, Saber!

It glows, a blue giant comes forth from the air, composing from motes of gold and azure. He is a giant of a man, clad in blue and gold. His armor is baroque. His staff is golden, and taller than he is. He wears a faceless, menacing helmet, set within an articulate hood. He looks as if he could crush a man's skull in his palm as easily as one would crush a banana - and this Servant does not even belong to a Knight Class.

The blue giant speaks, his voice a booming baritone seemingly corrupted by static and reverberating in the wind, and his armor snarls sympathetically as he shifts.

"I heed your summons, oh Magus chosen of the Grail," he says. "I, Servant Caster, son of Magnus, have come to answer you. Are you my Master?"

A Caster, not a Saber? No matter; he is a Magus. He shall make it work. And this Servant can easily pass for a Lancer, or perhaps even a Saber as well. Yes, he can make it work. And the Grail will be his.

He grins, and wordlessly draws back his sleeve to reveal his command seals.

The blue and gold giant nods.

"Then our compact is sealed."

* * *

"Shirooooooooou… I'm _haaaaaaangreeeeeee…."_

"Hi, Hungry. I'm Shirou."

"That's not _funny Shirooooooooou…"_

Laughing to himself, Shirou finishes up the rest of dinner and carried the dishes to the table, two at a time, swatting at Taiga's fingers with the spatula every time she tried to nick a taste. She knows full well that they don't eat until all the food's there, and not until everyone's there.

Its pretty late, though. What is that old man doing…

The door opens, and Emiya Kiritsugu walks in wearing an overcoat over… he wore a robe to visit crime lord Fujimura Raiga. The same robe he woke up in. And Shirou knows his old man showered this morning because he is, somehow, clean-shaven. Which means he wore the robe, walked around Fuyuki City all day, in plain view of everyone, wearing slippers and an overcoat, _knowingly._

Honestly, ever since five years ago his father has stopped giving anything even remotely resembling a fuck.

"Kiritsugu-saaaaaaaaaan," Taiga moans, "You're _laaaaaaaaaaaaaate."_

"Ah, sorry, Taiga-chan," he laughs, in that good-natured I'm-not-really-that-sorry kind of way. "Raiga-san really isn't good at technology."

That was a lie. Raiga Fujimura was able to lead a crime syndicate for decades, and advanced really well with technology. Raiga was probably better than his granddaughter at using technology.

Shirou knows, because Shirou fixes his things from time to time. The spending money is nice. Helps supplement household expenses. Like food.

Mostly food.

"Its fine, dad. We're just starting," He says, giving Kiritsugu a look that says 'I know you lied and I want you to know I am _very_ disappointed'. Taiga, drooling enough to make a waterfall does not notice. "Did you eat before you got back?"

"No, I didn't snack. Hm." Kiritsugu sits down, back to the TV, and reaches for his chopsticks. "Where's Matou-san? She's usually here for dinner."

"She, ah, she said her grandfather wanted her to do something for him."

"Mm." Kiritsugu grunted significantly at that, and though still smiling, Shirou knows that he's thinking of something important. Dad said he used to be part of some humanitarian operations all over the world, and he's fought with Dead Apostles before. Emiya Kiritsugu has since left that all behind for family, but since years ago, when he used to vanish for months at a time, he's had his doubts.

Kiritsugu thinks he doesn't know, but what kind of magical social worker has a Calico M950 SMG, a Walther WA2000 Semi-Automatic Sniper Rifle, and a handgun chambered for rifle rounds in a box under his bed? And he's looked it up; the Calico and the Walther are immensely rare.

"Ah, Shirou, you prepared mapo tofu." He looks up, snapped from his thoughts, and finds Kiritsugu… not _quite_ cringing, but halfway there. His father did not like mapo tofu, even when he made it. Rather famously within the household, Emiya Kiritsugu despised mapo tofu.

"Ah? Ah! You did, Shirou!" Taiga looks at him, more shocked than anything. "Did you make it by accident, when doing your magic in the kitchen?"

If there was a form of magic or thaumaturgy for the kitchen, Shirou doesn't know it. He did, however, fully intend on making the mapo tofu.

A small joke, at Kiritsugu's expense.

"Shirou… _why._ "

"We had some extra time before you came, so I decided to make an extra dish." He smiles, and it is only slightly kind. "I hope you find it to your liking, dad."

Five second pass in silence, broken only by the sounds of Taiga eating. Even in tense familial standoffs, nothing will stand between Taiga Fujimura and her dinner. Especially if dinner is half an hour late.

"I'm kidding, that's not mapo tofu. It only _looks_ like it."

"Ah, you scared me." He laughs, but Shirou sees the beads of sweat on Kiritsugu's brow. Hard to imagine that this man used to be a spellcaster, who has incredibly rare guns in a trunk within easy access. Who could probably kill him and everyone else in the neighbourhood, if he wanted.

Even weak and tired as he is, Emiya Kiritsugu is a better Magus than Emiya Shirou.

"Anh," Taiga sighs. "Wonder what Sakura is doing…"

* * *

She hated that room. She hated it, and the bugs, and how they ate away at her body and soul. She hated how it made her feel like _that_ , how it made her _want,_ how she could do nothing to stop it. She hated how powerless she felt, how useless she was. She hates how she has to join this War, and fight six other Masters. She hates how she has to lie to Shirou and Kiritsugu-san, about not knowing anything about magic. She hates having to lie about her heritage, her family.

She wanted to be like nee-san. Strong. Confident. Powerful.

But she's not.

An iron giant stands, towering, seemingly filling the entire chamber with his bulk. Hunched over, with huge pauldrons on his shoulders and a servo-arm snapping on his back, the snout-nosed Space Marine scowls, directing his gaze to the timid girl. Zouken just sneers impassively to the side, and Shinji can do nothing but gawk and gape in awe and jealousy.

"A Rider, Sakura?" Zouken chuckles, low and joyless. "I'm impressed. You might actually be worth some praise."

"You are my Master?" She nods, showing her command seals, and the iron giant snorts. "Pathetic. But those seals do not lie. It appears that I have a weak Master."

"Yeah," Shinji mutters under his breath. "I could be a better Master than Sakura. I could be better than _all_ of them."

"Is that so?" Shinji Matou freezes under the gaze of Zouken; he did not like his 'grandfather', but he couldn't do anything to him either. Damn old man refused to die no matter what happened. "Well then, why don't you become Rider's Master?"

"What?" It sounded audacious. Inconceivable. Impossible. That he could simply _become_ a Master…

It was incredible. "Can I?"

"Yes. Show me what you can do, _Shinji._ " He laughs again, and Shinji feels his _skin_ crawl. "Sakura, give your command seals to Shinji."

"What? But…"

"Do you have any objections?"

"...No, grandfather."

"Good." He sneers, and turns to Rider. "And do you?"

"Hmph." He looks away, turning his back to the three of them. "Do as you will. I care not but for the Grail."

* * *

" _You have one new messages: playing now:_

" _Rin, the 5th Holy Grail War will begin tomorrow. If you have not summoned a Servant yet, do so before school tomorrow. If you've decided not to participate, however, then come to the church before then. I will ensure that-*beep*._

" _You have zero new messages."_

The young Tohsaka huffs, and retires to her bedroom.

Its settled. She'll do the summoning ritual tonight.

* * *

At dawn the next morning, whilst Emiya Shirou would be preparing breakfast and fighting tigers, while Tohsaka Rin sleeps the day off while a red-clad bow-wielding man servant brews her the finest tea she will have for the next forty eight hours, a plane lands at Fuyuki International Airport.

For the first time, fine blue shoes step upon japanese tarmac, and an entourage of servants attend to their blonde drill-haired mistress.

"So _this_ is Fuyuki City? It doesn't _seem_ like much. Well then." She tosses her hair, briefly exposing her Command Seals to the air, and heads off for the limousine. Unseen, unheard, her servants and her Servant join her in the car, and she heads off for the hotel she shall be occupying for the duration of her stay. One located near a leyline, of course, no need to be stingy.

When it comes to the matters of a Holy Grail War, where the stakes are one unrestricted wish, no price is too great.

And Luviagelita Edelfelt is capable of paying a very, _very_ great price.

In her bed, Tohsaka Rin shudders involuntarily, a foreboding gesture that she shall forget the moment she wakes up.

* * *

The day before, Shirou found that there were red bruises on the back of his left hand. They didn't _hurt,_ and they didn't need care, but he did not remember hurting himself there. Maybe he hit himself when he fell asleep in the shed again. It was a mystery.

Today, while preparing breakfast, Shirou found another mystery.

His father, Emiya Kiritsugu, known for his ability to wake up early but adamant refusal to do so at any sane hour, joined them for breakfast before 7am. He was there before he reached the kitchen, and waved him good morning.

Something was definitely up.

Sakura didn't join them again this morning; she explained the previous day that she had family commitments to attend to for the rest of the week. That was fine, but after Taiga ran off for school in a hurry - again eating half the table before she left - that left things in a rather awkward position, between a spellcaster and his apprentice. A father and his son.

This had to do with the fact that two days ago, he accidentally used too much prana and probably caught someone's attention, wasn't it? Because that heather was just _so broken._ He couldn't leave it un-fixed. It was almost a physical compulsion, that he had to fix things. Almost like how he has to cook every dish at home, instead of leaving it to Taiga or Kiritsugu.

Then again, Taiga or Kiritsugu _couldn't_ cook, would not admit it, would try, and would subsequently poison themselves. So cooking for them was rather the point.

Kiritsugu spoke first, _trying_ to look casual but eminently failing. There was a severe look in his eyes that his usual empty, lazy gaze only emphasized. "Shirou, do you have work today?"

"Hm?" He shakes his head. "No, I'm free after school tonight. Why, did you want to do something?"

"Come straight home after school. I know there should be some club activities that probably need your help, but they can wait until tomorrow." He nips at his rice, taking the time to chew and swallow before he continued. "You know about the recent cases in Shinto, right? People are randomly falling ill, being hospitalised."

"Shinto has always been a place where people fall ill easily, though." What had once been the rich center of Fuyuki City had since become a desiccated husk of itself; first the bio-terrorist attacks in the area, blamed on groups operating out the Middle East. Then the Great Fire happened, and hundreds died in a single night, consumed by black flames that burned up an area that was now the grey, lifeless Fuyuki Central Park.

Even now, the aftershocks of the bombing could be felt. People avoided the place now.

Kiritsugu shakes his head. "Something is wrong. Its different this time."

"You think it's the work of an enemy Magus?"

"I _hope_ it is. An enemy Magus can be dealt with."

"A… Dead Apostle, then?"

"I'm not sure. But the point is, it is not safe at night." He clasps a hand around Shirou's shoulder, and looks him in the eyes. "Come straight home, Shirou. I'll explain everything tonight."

* * *

That day, school ended early. The recent spat of illnesses and sick people that taxed the hospitals to capacity had startled the management, and they worried about an epidemic. All students were to head straight home, and all club activities were to be suspended until further notice.

On his way to get his shoes, however, Shirou met someone with blue seaweed for hair that he _really_ didn't want to bother with right now.

"Ah, Emiya!" Sauntering over to his 'friend' with a girl on each arm and one on his back, the self-styled high school casanova grinned at him in the usual sleazy Shinji-like way that said 'I'm going to give you my work to do, Emiya Shirou, you're going to do it, and there's not a damn thing you're going to do about it, amirite'.

So, basically whenever Shinji smiled at him. "Ah, Shinji. You haven't gone home yet?"

"Nah, not yet. I was looking for you, actually!" He whipped out a set of keys, and twirled them around a finger as he continued, girls cooing on his every word. "See, Fujumura-sensei wants the Archery Club Room cleaned up, so she asked me to find you to do it. You wouldn't go against a teacher's request, would you?"

What a blatant, barefaced lie. Taiga probably told Shinji to clean out the room, which as Vice-Captain is _his_ responsibility, and instead he wants to go off and party with his harem or something. By all rights, Shirou should just blow him off and go home. He could probably take the opportunity to punch him in the face, though; all the boys at school would support him if he did, and his reputation with the girls had a little bit of leeway for that sort of thing.

The last time he punched Shinji in the face, he nearly also threw him out the window.

He couldn't remember the last time he felt so _angry._

But, he promised Sakura. So he won't.

Punch him in the face, that is.

Shirou rolled his eyes, and snatched the keychain from his finger. "I'll take care of it." He smiled politely. "Have a good afternoon, Shinji."

"Heh. You know, Emiya, you're really gullible sometimes."

Apparently, Shinji couldn't tell the difference between generosity and gullibility.

"Anyways, I'll see you tomorrow in class, alright?"

The moment he rounded into the stairwell, Shirou sighed, remembering his promise to Kiritsugu.

Well, _he's_ not going to be happy.

With nothing else left but to do it, he ran for the Archery Club Room.

Goddamn womanizing piece of seaweed.

* * *

"He's still here," Rin Tohsaka grumbles. Standing in the courtyard of Homurahara, where the Basketball Club usually spent most of their time, she crosses her arms and scans the surrounding area. She still felt the foreign prana in the air, and it was only a matter of time until she tracked this mystery Magus down. He's still in school, no doubt for some nefarious purpose, and in the area the sports clubs occupied.

But how had the Magus gotten in? There have been no transfer students recently, which means that whoever this is, they must have been in the school for over a year. Over a year, and she didn't notice a thing. This Magus was either incredibly talented, incredibly cautious, or incredibly weak.

"Rin, why are you still here?" Manifesting from thin air, Servant Archer stood beside her with arms also crossed. "You should be focusing on the War."

"There is another Magus at school, one that went undercover for over a year without _my_ noticing. They could be a Master, or they could be working for a Master." She sucks on her teeth, gritting them hard. "Either way, it is an unacceptable security risk. I need to deal with it, _now._ "

"Well, alright then." He sighs and shrugs, clearly unhappy but resigned to her decision. "For a Magus of your caliber, this should not be too difficult."

"You're right, it shouldn't-"

"Cease your hunt, witchling. I would present a _far_ more interesting proposition." Standing atop a metal chain link fence, backlit by the moon, clad in improbably-large and bulky armor, is a man. His face is obscured by a helmet, the color of his armor desaturated by the light. But he wields a spear in his left hand casually, one with a menacing, sword-like head. "Fight _me,_ here and now, with _your_ Servant."

"An enemy Servant?" There is nothing else he could be. Nothing else could stand so steadily on a chain link fence and not crumple it under the weight of pauldrons _that_ big. "You had the element of surprise. Why would you _tell_ me you were there?"

The Servant shifted, and didn't so much jump as _drop_ onto the ground with a meaty thud, cracking the concrete floor. Now properly lit, she saw that his armor was brass, dull and stained with old blood. "And kill my entertainment in a single stroke? That would be more pathetic than you already are."

"You wha-"

"Rin, get back."

In a flash, Archer moved before she could react further, a black falchion in one hand, his expression firm and unreadable.

"Oh?" Lancer tilts his head, leaning on his spear. "So your Servant is a Saber? He doesn't have the bearing of one. Perhaps his summoning was incomplete? Or," he snorts, "That is actually an _Archer._ "

"And how would you come to _that_ conclusion?" Archer retorts, sword clenched tightly in hand. "For all you know, I could be a Saber."

"You are too composed for a Berzerker, too incompetent for a Caster, lacking in a mount, and I am already Lancer. Well, you could be Assassin." He leans further on his spear. "In which case, this shall be a _very_ quick match."

"Why you-" Rin bites her tongue harshly. She needs to be graceful. Elegant. Composed. She is a Tohsaka, and she will damn well act like one. She needs to consider the situation, react accordingly, and defeat this Servant. His Master might well be the mystery Magus on campus. She needs to find him, and take him out.

Archer does not react visibly. He actually shows no emotion at all. He glances back at Rin expectantly.

So, that's how it is then?

"Archer! Take him out! Show me what you can do!"

For a moment, he grins.

And in the next, he vanishes, and sparks fly as blade clashes against blade, Archer crashing into Lancer from the sky.

The first strike is significant, splitting the concrete beneath the armored titan's feet. Archer swung so hard, Rin sees his black sword _shatter_ under the force. The brass titan's lance barely budges, and he swings out with a right hook faster than he can _blink._

Archer dodges, just barely, twisting his head just far enough for the armored fist to graze his cheek.

The following shockwave knocks him skyward once more, throwing up dust that obscures Lancer from sight. Archer lands, a perfect replica of the black blade that broke and its perfect inverted copy in both hands.

Half a second had passed at this point.

The dust cloud vanishes with the blurred edge of a spear, and Lancer sneers at Archer. "Is that it, Bowman? Even the most pitiful of snipers in my era were capable of more! Pull out your bow, Archer! I shall wait!"

Archer, evidently not listening, pressed the assault. His blades flash and blur faster than the eye can see, the red of his sleeves, the black of his chestplate and his brown skin all blend together into a dizzying swirl as the Servants clash and battle and shatter the ground. Every clash hurt her ears, every charge and countercharge ripped cracks in the concrete floors.

Archer was graceful, swift, elegant in his efficiency. He moved aggressively, always keeping Lancer on the defensive. He moved, he leaped, he slid, he dashed, he clashed. Every strike, every swing, all of it was meant to put Lancer on the defensive. His blades danced beautifully in the moonlight, beating against the lance time and time again. Whenever Lancer moved to counterattack, Archer simply moved out the way. There was no doubt to the disparity of the two - Archer was slower than Lancer,weaker than Lancer, lighter than Lancer - but that did not matter if Archer simply moved out of the way of his thrusts before Lancer even _moved_. And he has an uncanny ability to claim opportunities; twice already, he has swung at Lancer's head. Only the brass titan's unnatural speed allowed him to dodge out of the way.

Archer, despite nominally being a master of _ranged_ combat, was without a doubt highly competent in close quarters.

Lancer, however...

Lancer was murder incarnate, every action, every strike, every _stance_ simply emanating the very essence of murder. He did not enact murder, he _was_ murder. He did not kill, he was the expression of killing itself. There was no bloodlust, no love for battle that she could tell from his actions. He did not even seem to be enjoying himself, though that was hard to tell with him _wearing a bloody helmet._

She wasn't even swearing. _It was covered in blood._

 _Archer isn't even bleeding._

Ten minutes passed, and the two Servants separated in a resounding clash. Neither looked the worse for wear, but Archer was panting, gasping for air with every heave of his chest.

Lancer just looked at them contemptuously, like he was expecting better.

That he does so through a helmet large enough for Rin to sit on _and she felt it_ did not make matters better.

"So you're still alive, Archer."

"It will take more than a slightly-sharp stick to kill me, Lancer," Archer smirks. "Did you expect an easy win?"

"I broke each blade thirty three times, and yet you have more. A strange talent." He grunts, and takes up a stance with his spear. The first he's done since they've fought. "I suppose that much is worth praise. But you die. Now."

The head of his spear thrums, glowing gold.

The sheer amount of prana flowing - no, _flooding_ from the spear is improbable.

Archer can't possibly block, dodge, or survive that.

Raising her hand, Rin prepares to invoke the command seals-

Lancer turns, suddenly, and looks towards the Archery Club Room.

Rin barely gets a look before whoever was there vanishes through the door, but she's seen enough.

Red hair, half-buttoned shirt? That was Emiya Shirou.

And he was using Reinforcement Thaumaturgy. She could feel the prana.

So _he's_ the mystery Magus?

"Observers," he snorts. The light extinguishes around the spearhead, and he turns towards where Shirou ran. "She said no collateral damage, but she shall excuse this one."

"Archer, stop him!"

Before Rin knew it, the words had erupted from her mouth.

Lancer leaps to the sky, and is sent back to the ground by twinned blades.

"You would stand in the way of protecting the world from things it should not know, Archer?"

"One random kid won't cause societal collapse."

"You would be absolutely wrong." Sparing no more words, Lancer launches off into the sky, shattering the stone beneath his feet in an overpowering stomp.

Moments later, Rin runs over to him and punches him in the chest.

Her hand hurts.

"A-Archer!" She looks up at him, glaring viciously. At least, she tried to, but it looked more like petulant pouting. "I said to stop him!"

"We still can." He bends down onto a knee, and makes a big show of sweeping his arm and bowing. "If you wouldn't mind, milady Tohsaka?"

She huffs again, but there is no time for chiding, Hopping into his arms, Rin watches the ground shrink beneath her, and winces at the sheer amount of collateral damage to the school.

She should probably call the damn priest later. That much damage would not go unnoticed.

* * *

The house is dark by the time he gets home. In any other circumstance, Shirou would be glad; not having to explain that he was late because he decided to do Shinji's work _for_ him again to a disgruntled Kiritsugu was always a plus.

Now, however, all he could really think about was _what in the hell was going on in school._ There was a fight going on, but this was beyond anything he's seen before. No fight between mortal men could tear up stone and shred metal chain fence links as a result of the backlash from their blows.

And when the bigger one looked at him, he just _ran._ He ran, all the way back home, hating himself for not being able to help that one girl that looked like Rin Tohsaka, and did not stop until he was through the gate, through the door, and lying down with his face on the floor.

"What… What were they doing at Homurahara…?"

And then he hears bells ringing, and dives under the table.

The wall explodes into wood chips, paper shards, and bits of rock debris shortly thereafter.

"A poor decision, child. Your death would have been _quicker._ "

Brass blood-soaked armor - those aren't stains, the one who wears it was _bathing_ in the life vitae of his victims - shifts, and a finely-made spear hums in his grasp, its head burning cold thunder. Whoever this maniac was, his face was obscured by a greek-inspired full helm, also stained red with blood. He can smell the iron tang strongly. It might never leave this room.

The younger Emiya flails for the closest objects he can find, feeling a rolled up poster and a pistol taped under the table - _when did that gun even get there he checked this morning -_ and rolled onto his feet on the other side. Poster in hands, his arms and circuits flush with prana, and he utters two words firmly, even while shaking like a fig leaf.

"Trace, on!"

The poster flows green faintly, and now possesses the strength of steel.

The man lashes out with his spear, and the poster snaps in half lengthwise.

"Surprising, child, but tricks of the Warp will not matter." He dives for the side, but it is too late. A deep gash tears open on Shirou's arm, and he starts bleeding slightly. Only general reinforcement kept his arm from being shorn off.

Just what _was_ this man?!

"Submit, and I will make it swift, and only slightly painful."

Emiya Shirou ran.

It was not the smartest thing he ever did.

Two seconds later, when he reached the backyard, the brass titan caught up with him and kicked him through the window, over the grass, and through the doors of the backyard shed. It hurt to move, it hurt to _breathe._ Shirou groaned, trying to stand up, and felt the edge of a blade at his throat.

"A pity, child. Your instincts are swift for a mortal." And in spite of all the blatant ignorance of physics, the brass titan looked like he had a good night's sleep and had a big breakfast. What kind of person was he, to chase him over town while wearing big bulky armor, then kick a teen _across two buildings,_ and not so much as _feel it?_

"D-Damn it… Damn it… I won't..."

His body hurts. His arms burn. His legs burn. Everything burns, so much so that he scarcely notices the pain carving through his left hand.

Beside him, under a pile of junk and trash, a faint magic circle burns to life.

"I won't… die… to someone… like _you!"_

A bright blue light suffuses the shed. The brass titan pulls the spear from his neck, and is forced out of the shed.

Standing between Shriou and the door is a crimson titan, a red cape billowing behind him in the pale moonlight. Clad in the same bulky armor as the brass man, but more… regal. Composed and dignified.

Angelic.

He looks back, and Shirou finds a knightly helmet staring down at him.

"In fealty to the Emperor of Man, I lend my sword to you." He speaks, and his voice is a strong, commanding baritone, powerful and breathtaking with every syllable. Shirou feels insignificant, before the charisma of such a man. "I ask, child: Are you my Master?"

"Mas...ter?" Pain flares up in his left hand, and he clutches tightly at it. He flushes prana through it, conceptualising the basics of Reinforcement in his mind again and again, but nothing seems to work.

"I, Servant Saber, have answered your call for summoning. I ask again: are you my Master?"

He glances at them, and finds red designs carved into the skin on the back of his palm. They still throb, but the pain dies down gradually to manageable levels, then to none at all.

The crimson giant nods. "Our pact is sealed. My sword is yours to command." He looks over his back, and Shirou can feel a contemptuous glare through the knightly visor. "That Servant is still out there. Let me deal with him."

"I… Who are… what is a Ser-"

The crimson titan ignores his words like the whistle on the wind, and leaves the shed - it would be more accurate to say that he _flies_ out, because any other word would not do justice to just how _fast_ he moved. Utterly stunned by these recent turn of events, Shirou does not notice that the doorway has been blown open and the doors broken apart.

His words forgotten on his lips, Shirou follows after the strange red giant.

* * *

He is a Space Marine. He is an Angel of Death. He is a servant of the Emperor and the Primarch. He was one in life, and not even in death does duty end.

Nothing, nothing at all, takes priority over duty.

And right now, his duty was to ascertain the safety of his Master and to win the Holy Grail War.

The wind parts around him violently as he _tears_ through the atmosphere faster than he did in life. Saber's hands blur, twinned gold-trimmed Astartes combat knives held tight, one properly and one in reverse-grip, and he twirls and dances in the second clash of their battle.

Lancer - and there is no one else it _could_ be, the bloody brass titan was using a long spear - met his charge predictably, spear pointed straight at him. Not at all distracted, Saber strikes against the spearhead with both his short swords, and uses his forward momentum and his prodigious strength to move _upwards._

Lancer does not follow, and keeps his boots planted firm on the ground.

Beneath his helmet, Saber smirks.

Good, the bloodthirsty fool knows that only Angels may fly.

He shouts, a resounding echo cracking across the land. He forces a rotation in mid-air, and uses the spin to slam one combat knife-hilt against the flat of the spear's head.

The other he uses to slash at Lancer's arm tendons, to shatter his grip - and with that, his chances of victory.

The knife-blade glances off ineffectually against Terminator plate; it is only to be expected, considering the sheer resilience of Terminator Armor. This was meant only to make a statement.

Lancer snarls, and smacks a knife out of his hand.

It buries itself halfway into the dirt before Saber even lands on his feet, a sword scabbard rattling against his greaves. He stands at half-crouch, remaining knife held in reverse, and the blade in the dirt disintegrates into so much prana.

"Another Servant that wields twin blades?" Lancer scoffs. "This War is a farce. Would you not say so, Saber?"

"And you would call me Saber, Lancer, even though this is our first meeting?"

"I have already met the Archer of this War, and you outclass him in nobility and speed." A pause. "You, however, are not nearly his match in weaponry or blademastery."

"Hah. Your jests. They amuse me, Lancer." He raises his remaining knife, pointing it at the brass titan's neck. "I would ask you, _Space Marine._ Do these look like blades to you?"

"They are but knives. Nameless, worthless knives, hardly worth my attention." Lancer tilts his head thoughtfully, and Saber feels the weight of his gaze on the blade strapped to his side. "You would not use your true weapon, Saber? Even though this shall be a War that tests all you abilities? Even the 'strongest Servant', Saber, cannot bumble through a Holy Grail War."

"I am aware, and I do not intend to bumble." He smirks, and makes sure to make the smug chuckle _heard._ Another knife manifests on his belt, and he draws it, once again presenting twinned blades. "This shall be all I need to defeat _you,_ Lancer. Archer may yet be a finer swordsman than I, but I far outclass you in technique."

Lancer pauses, growling. While he ponders, Saber instead considers strategies. Plans. Methods of executing his foe with minimums in collateral damage, lives lost, and especially prana wasted. Energy wasted is energy he will not recover. He will need every bit of mana he can get his hands on for this War, if it is anything like the previous.

 _Especially_ if it is anything like the previous.

"Saber," Lancer speaks. "You are a Blood Angel."

Ah, so he sees. The Alatus Cadere is presented proudly on his chestplate, and a gold wing springs from his left pauldron. "It took you long enough to discern, Lancer. You bring shame to my Chapter and yours to not notice something so elementary until _after_ we have clashed for fifteen seconds."

"I have fought much in life," Lancer says. "Some of them foes of mankind, some of them traitors from within, some of them children who would require discipline forged from violence. Sometimes, I fought against fellow Space Marines." He points his spear at Saber, and continues with a snarl. "You present familiarity with me, Saber, and that is your first mistake. I have fought a great many Blood Angels in my life, and you must surely be one of them."

"There are many Blood Angels Blademasters in the long history of the IX Legion, during the Great Crusade and after the Scouring. Each of them is more handsome than the last." Saber smirks at his own joke, and then looks at Lancer significantly through his visor. "You know not _which_ of them I am. However, there are few Angel of Death, Clad in Brass and Painted in Blood, who would walk the stars splitting the flesh of his kin and his foes, sometimes in the same battle. In the long history of the Imperium, there have only been a few.

"And only one of them used a Spear, _Minotaur."_

Lancer looks at Saber impassively, leaning impatiently against his weapon. "And your point, Saber?"

"You slew kin and foe alike, at the behest of the High Lords of Terra. You never once asserted your independence, never once reveled in the history of your Primarch or your Legion. You disgust me, like your damn Chapter disgusts all Astartes. You are scum, Asterion Moloc, and I shall put you down."

At this, Lancer only _laughs._

"Strong words, oh Servant of the Sword! But I care not for words, I hear enough of them in the daytime!"

Lancer twirls his spear about, and its head burns with cold blue thunder.

"Come, and show me the reason you are here, Saber! Show me why you deserve to be summoned in that Class! Show me your duty!" The glow intensifies threefold, and a golden light suffuses it from within. "SHOW ME DEEDS!"

 **Chapter 1: End**


	3. Chapter 2

_**Fate/Red Chalice**_

 ** _+Thought of the Day: Master your emotions, lest they master you+_**

* * *

Emiya Shirou cannot believe his life right now.

In the past few minutes, he's been attacked by a giant brass maniac with a glowing spear, tried to fight back with a prana-reinforced piece of paper, been kicked across the backyard, probably broke several ribs, and nearly had his throat cut out. And _then_ another angelic crimson titan who called himself Saber sprung from nowhere, fended the brass titan off, and called him his Master, whereupon he found several surprisingly-artsy carvings on the back of his left hand.

And _then_ the two titans fought, called each others Space Marines and Blood Angels and Minotaurs and whatnot, Saber insulted him, and now the brass maniac - apparently called _Lancer_ \- was laughing and gearing up for a massive attack.

And it's only been less than ten minutes since he got home, after running the entire way home on Reinforced legs, because he found someone who looked like Tohsaka in the middle of a fight between said brass maniac Lancer and some red man that rubbed him the wrong way. Said fight was apparently so furious the basketball court was _completely wrecked._

All in all, tonight was probably the craziest night he's had in a long, long, _long_ time.

And yet, somehow, he was able to fully understand their terminology. Space Marines are the gene-engineered super soldiers of the Imperium of Man, designed by the Emperor of Mankind to serve as its sword and shield. The Blood Angels are one such line of Space Marines, descended from the Great Angel Sanguinius, one of the Emperor's twenty gene-forged sons.

Lancer is Asterion Moloc, Last Master of the Minotaurs. Spearmaster, wielder of the Black Spear, who possessed a terrifyingly-powerful laser cannon in its… oh.

"You speak of honoring lineage, Saber! Well then, I ask of you! How blessed do you feel, to be descended from such a noble soul as Sanguinius?!"

Lancer roars, a feral, bloodthirsty expression, and charges. Saber stands his ground, knives held tight and ready to receive the attack.

Before Shirou could process it, a massive crater is dug where the two Servants clashed, and tiny globs of soil rain down all over the backyard.

But where there had been two Servants, there are now _three._ The brass titan, the one Saber called Asterion Moloc. The red Angel, who called him Master.

And the red man, who wielded blades of black and white, whose history echoed throughout the annals of history, whose beauty of craftsmanship and design stun him to behold, and whose names he knew before even reading them with Structural Analysis.

 _Kanshou._

 _Bakuya._

 _Yin-Yang Blades Gan Jiang and Mo Ye._

Lancer snarls, and swings a fist at the new Servant. The blow is sloppy, unfocused, less intended to kill and more a gesture of irritation, one easily dodged by both Saber and Archer. "Archer, you would interfere with my duel?"

"What else would I do?" He says with a smile, the Yin-Yang blades gleaming in the moonlight. "You ran from our fight, Lancer."

"Ho, Lancer!" Saber laughs, and falls in beside the red-cloaked Archer. "You run from your fights now, as well? Such a shame. You have fallen far indeed, _Moloc._ "

"Hmph." He stands his ground, and his Black Spear stops glowing. Faintly, Shirou sees him looking upwards, away from both Servants, completely ignoring them in favor of something else.

Honestly, Shirou was just wondering what that Black Spear could do now that it has been actualised as a Noble Phantasm - a term he now is somehow aware of despite never reading it up - when in life it was capable of blasting apart the tanks of the _future,_ which are no doubt even more terrifying than modern Main Battle Tanks.

"...It appears I must withdraw." Lancer sulks, and his blade vanishes into thin air. "My little Master grows impatient, and I must soothe her damaged ego. No doubt she was observing this entire spar through my own eyes. We will finish this another day."

"And leave you free to hunt?"

"You are free to follow, Saber. But fight properly."

Moments after, he vanished into thin air as well.

"...Well then." Saber shifts, the crimson titan looking over at the tan, silver-maned man. "Do we fight now?"

"If _my_ little Master decides, oh Saber," Archer replies with a smirk. "Though I must say, you have… questionable taste in weapons, but excellent taste in aesthetic."

"You refer to these, I presume?" Saber chuckles, and presents his twinned combat knives in his palms. "These are not actual weapons I used in life. They are but sublimations of a universal belief that applies to all Blood Angels such as I."

"That being?"

Saber smiles. The gesture is wasted, for he wears a helmet. Still, he does so. "No Blood Angel is ever without a blade. And I, as a Blood Angel amongst Blood Angels, have three."

"And when do you intend to use the third," Archer prods, grinning slyly while pointing to the longsword on Saber's belt.

Saber only smiled wider at that. And again, the gesture is wasted, for his helmet is still worn.

"S-Saber…" Stumbling out of the shed, Shirou fumbles onto Archer's left arm, and promptly recoils onto his feet. "Saber, what is going on?"

"...What kind of idiot are you to-Ah." Archer looks to the wall, hand on his ear. "Do you wish to meet my Master, Saber?"

"I would not mind. It would amuse me slightly to confirm that your Master is little and troublesome."

"Well, she's coming."

"Indeed, I sensed the both of you coming."

Shirou turns to the wall face both Servants are looking at, and for two heartbeats there are nothing.

On the third, a red devil leaps clear over, and lands skillfully and gracefully within the backyard.

She dusts herself off, taking care to untangle her twin-tails. Every detail is breathtaking, from the blue of her eyes to the shininess and slight-waviness to her hair, and very much her long, shapely legs. Oh yes, Shirou got a good look at _those._

Mostly because she landed right in front of him. Rin Tohsaka, school idol and star student. And, apparently, Master Magus.

That settles it, all of this is actually an incredibly vivid daydream he's having while suffering from a coma caused by punching Shinji and then being swarmed by a hundred angry fangirls.

How does the asshole even _have_ fangirls? The Matou fortune isn't _that_ big.

"...You're the Mystery Magus _and_ the Master of Saber," she deadpans. She sighs, palming her face dejectedly with one arm and with the other arm limp. Was this the true face of Rin Tohsaka? Issei would have a field day. "You. Emiya, how long have you been practicing Magecraft?"

"...Huh?" Strange. She wasn't calling him 'Emiya-kun' like she usually did in school. Is this another layer? Or was she mad at him?

"I'm asking the questions, Emiya, if that is even your real name! There was a high-level bounded field around the house, and clearly you're a Magus of some note to have hidden from me the entire time we've been attending Homurahara Academy until just a few days ago _and then summon Saber instead of me._ "

In the background, Archer sighs, and Saber pats him on the back.

"Wait, a few days ag-Oh, right." He slaps himself on the head. Of course someone would pick that up. The heater was not worth the reinforcement. And it still broke down this morning. "...Could we settle this inside?" Shirou lets the second half of the request go unsaid, and only gestures about the backyard.

The backyard with pitted craters, leafless trees, and far too much ash and dirt to be normal.

And a shed with a blown-open doorway. That, too, will require attention.

"...Fine, Emiya." Hands on cocked hips, she leans forward aggressively into his face, somehow despite being shorter than him. "But you'd better make tea! I'm a guest of this house!"

"...You jumped over the back wall."

" _Details,_ Emiya! Make me tea! Good tea!"

"Y-Yes, ma'am."

He sighs internally. This long day just got longer.

* * *

Archer went to the roof, to act as their sentry. Saber followed, though he did so in spirit form. No point surprising dad, even though as an ex-spellcaster he probably wouldn't be too surprised. Well, insofar as he wouldn't be surprised by the sudden arrival of a giant crimson giant in bulky power armor capable of wielding short swords like knives into his home.

Whatever the Holy Grail War is, it produces many strange circumstances.

When Shirou flipped the lights on, he expected to find the place a complete mess, with an overturned table covered in debris and all manner of knick-knacks his father collected splayed all over the floor in a haphazard fashion. He made a mess of the place - well, Lancer did, when he kicked in through a wall and tried to kill him, apparently on a whim - on the way out, and he had the _need_ to _clean._

And then he found his father seated on an upright table, eyes closed, hands clasped in front of his mouth, his reading glasses on, and frowning at him. He looked again, and found a bowl of fruit to his left, his knick-knacks by the TV, and the pistol formerly taped under the table now to his right.

A quick glance to the wall clock - which was still there, thank god - told him that yes, it was currently 11:34pm.

He promised to be back by 5pm.

"You're late," Emiya Kiritsugu quips.

"Ah, d-dad…" Shirou is sweating bullets. He is sweating many bullets. Kiritsugu probably wants him to, because bullets are expensive.

That was probably a joke. "I, uh, so _Shinji_ -"

"Ah, Emiya-san!" Like a red knight coming to his rescue, Rin Tohsaka suddenly emerges by his side. "Sorry, sorry! I asked Emiya-kun for help with something at my house, but I didn't expect it to take this long! I live far away from here, so sorry if he got back so late!"

"Then I thank you, Tohsaka-san, for taking care of my son." She twitches, and Kiritsugu's eyes snap open to Shirou. "Show me the back of your hands."

The younger Emiya blinks. "Eh?"

A quick glance to the back of his left hand, and Kiritsugu sighs. "As I thought. I should've told you sooner."

"Told me… what, exactly?"

"Tell me, Shirou… what does the 'Holy Grail War' mean to you?"

* * *

In the dead of the night, on the empty streets of Fuyuki City, a small girl visits the sights of Japan on the shoulders of a towering, armored giant. Wearing the fine purple clothing of a german aristocrat, Ilyasviel von Einzbern wanders the streets with a smile on her face and rapturous glee.

"Ah, Berzerker! Its a park!" She grins brightly, like only a child of her apparent age could. "Maybe onii-chan will pass by there! We should wait for him."

The gargantuan Berzerker growls. There is no thought, no plan, no conceptualisation of the situation in his mind. With the mad haze that overtakes his thoughts, only two emotions remain:

Fury, and Duty.

And right now, his Duty is to his Master.

He takes slow, lumbering steps, leaving cracks in the asphalt and concrete in his wake, and to the squealing cries of a gleeful child.

Fury, and Duty.

Fury for his foes, Duty for his Master and Emperor.

And right now, the Emperor is not around.

* * *

This War is an aberration. It should not be happening, it should not exist.

On the roof, Counter Guardian EMIYA ponders the changes that he has observed, the changes that may likely occur, the motions he should take to consider his next step, and whether his goal is even still applicable in such a place.

Firstly: Servants from the future should _not_ be this common, least of all _Space Marines._

Therefore, Someone - or some _thing_ \- has intervened to make it so. But who? This hypothetical being must be capable of knowing about the Heaven's Feel ritual, and then intervening during its very founding. It cannot be the Kaleidoscope, for he has never done so. So who else could do this? Not to mention his second point of concern:

Emiya Kiritsugu.

Who should've died five years ago, dead from the Grail mud that consumed him.

Who has no doubt trained this version of himself better, considering that he felt significantly more prana from him _and_ the telltale signs of self-Reinforcement, which _he_ could never have done at that young an age.

Who has likely taught him better than to be the hopelessly idealistic Hero of Justice that he so desperately wants to be.

Who is likely so different from the Shirou that he _was_ that killing him will likely be a failure. No, it certainly will be. It would not be a sufficient paradox to erase his existence on the Throne of Heroes, assuming it even exists.

Which means that, more likely than not, this entire Holy Grail War is a wasted effort. His goal was never accomplishable to begin with from the moment of his summoning.

Rather disappointing, but not unexpected. The likelihood of being summoned into a Holy Grail War that is identical in all respect to his except for Rin's Archer is hopelessly small. As those of the Imperium are so fond of saying, 'Hope is the first step towards disappointment'.

Well then, he might as well win the War for Rin. It's the least he could do for all the things she's done for him, and all the things he's done for _her._ One version of her, at least. Teasing her will always be immensely amusing, and as he is now, she can't really do anything to retaliate. Its the perfect scenario.

And who knows? He might even speak to Kiritsugu. To ensure that this child will _definitely_ never walk the lonely path of a Hero, never take a contract with the World, and never become so completely enthralled by his ideals that he abandons absolutely everything in pursuit of it, like a goddamn fool.

And maybe to make fun of Emiya Kiritsugu.

He never _did_ manage to do that in life. His reaction might be something to behold.

* * *

Shirou fell into his seat, eyes wide in shock. This… was a _thing._ An actual _thing._ People would actually fight and _die_ in such a farce of a competition? The possibilities capable of an omnipotent wish-granting machine were immense, of course, but that of the seven Masters that participated most would likely die in the process did not sit well with him.

Nor, especially, did the revelation that this wish-granting machine, this 'Holy Grail', was _tainted._

It surprised him to hear, that Kiritsugu was a participant in the 4th Holy Grail War, hoping to use the wish to attain World Peace, and was even Master of a Saber - one of seven classes into which Heroes were summoned as, it seemed. He wanted much the same, and to attain that wish by becoming a Hero of Justice. But to fight in such a competition, and then discover that his hope for a better world was tainted, corrupted by evil…

The same evil that destroyed Shinto.

The same evil that burned his old life, and nearly claimed his life as well.

It explained the blank expression he sometimes wore. How hopeless he seemed at those times.

But just what else was he hiding from him? What else did the enigma-that-was-Emiya Kiritsugu lie to him about?

"E-Emiya-kun…" Rin slipped back into her usual form of address while Kiritsugu explained the Grail War to Shirou, and then the circumstances of the 4th War to them both. "This is… Emiya-san, the tainting of the Grail… it changes everything. We cannot allow a tainted artifact to carry on, even though - _especially_ because it is so powerful. We must shut it down."

"It would be difficult," Kiritsugu muses. "And I would advise against it. The Heaven's Feel has already begun. Shutting it down now might cause catastrophic damage to the ley lines here, and do far more damage than the Grail itself. I had hoped to disrupt it before the ritual began again, but it is fifty years too early. The best we can do now is let the ritual continue, and limit the destruction."

"Then our best hope is…" Rin grunts, and looks to end the War as quickly as possible, by taking out the other Servants… Shirou."

He nods. "Yeah, I was thinking of it, too. Saber, would you mind if we cooperated with Tohsaka and Archer?"

"Of course." The crimson-plated blademaster emerged, all three of his blades sheathed on his belt. "I agree completely. Cooperation will get us to the end of _this_ War sooner, and then the victor can be decided between Archer and I alone."

Kiritsugu looks at him, brow furrowing.

Saber looks back at him, surely grinning, and crosses his arms. "Ho?"

"...Saber? Dad?"

"So you're alive." The Blood Angel laughs. "And my current Master is your son. Funny, I see no resemblance."

Of course, Saber was listening in when Kiritsugu answered Rin's earlier question about the same. She had thought Shirou had hypnotised him into thinking he was his son.

Shirou had laughed at that, and then apologised when she got offended and flushed red. The _idea_ of hypnotising Kiritsugu… that was ridiculous.

Shirou was utterly inept at that sort of magecraft.

"You know why," Kiritsugu states flatly.

"Well, we should get going," Rin says, standing up and straightening her skirt. Shirou follows suit; now that the alliance was decided, he felt fine enough letting Tohsaka run the show. She knows more, anyway. "Emiya-kun needs to get registered with the Fake Priest."

"I was not aware that became new policy, Tohsaka-san."

"He told me that after what happened in the 4th War, some new guidelines had to be made." She shrugs. "I don't _disagree?_ He's creepy, and he drinks deeply of my tears, but he sometimes has a point."

"Then I'll go with you." Kiritsugu stands up as well, letting his robe fall away, and revealing that underneath everything he was already dressed to go, in a casual shirt and pants. "I want to see who is overseeing this war."

"O-Oi, dad, you're coming with us?" Shirou swallows a lump in his throat, trying to ignore the throaty chuckle Saber is deliberately failing to stifle. "But… it's late, and you really should be going to bed right now."

"As should you, but I'm not complaining." He smiles kindly, with the kind of cold edge only a trained killer should have. "I can take care of myself against any normal aggressors, Shirou. Anyone else… well, there are two of you for that."

"We'll take care of you, Emiya-san," Rin says with a smile and an elegant toss of her hair. "Don't worry. I, head of the Tohsaka Family, will make sure that you are okay for the duration of this visit."

"Then I shall trust the two of you to it." He smiles again, gently and lazily. "Apologies for intruding."

Shirou blushes. What does he think he's implying?

* * *

The church is magnificent.

Shirou cannot find any other word to describe it. It simply _is._ Its huge, and the victorian-esque architecture is baroque and gothic in a suitably grand fashion. The entire plot of land atop the hill must be all part of the Church. The building itself, however… It wasn't _that_ big. But big enough to be compelling, and towers over the visitors.

Atop the gate, a pair of iron twin-headed eagles are perched atop the fencepost and seemingly judging them, ready to pounce at any time. But they aren't familiars.

At least, they don't _seem_ like familiars.

"Well then, Master, Archer and I will wait outside." Saber's voice reverberates beside Shirou, though there is no one standing there. In spirit form, the only reason Shirou can sense him is through their connection. "This place is neutral ground. No place for Servants such as I. We shall stay here, and stand guard."

"A-Ah, I see." He looks about, feeling more than noticing Kiritsugu's expression, and nods. "Alright, then. Take care, Saber."

Within, the church chapel is every bit as extravagant as the church outside. It is large, beautifully decorated, with murals of saints and golden warriors painted in stained glass. People likely visit the place in large numbers. To be entrusted with such a church… Why would Rin call him a Fake Priest? A church like this could not be cheap.

"Ah, Tohsaka, what kind of person is the priest here?"

She shrugs, making a face that is equal parts exasperated and clueless. "It's hard to explain. Much of what I've gleaned over ten years tells me that he genuinely believes, but he also enjoys making me suffer in the most inane ways, so…"

Kiritsugu snorts. "Sounds like someone I knew a long time ago."

Shirou just looks at her. "You've known him ten years?"

"He's my legal guardian, my senior apprentice, and my second teacher all in one. Frustrating and confusing, all in a package that enjoys schadenfreude. Strange, no?"

Kiritsugu loses his lazy smile, and frowns.

"But… he's a priest." Shirou looks at Rin with a quizzical tilt, not quite able to conflate 'magus' and 'priest' with one another. It was like an oxymoron. "Priests don't use magecraft."

"And yet, that is the least confusing part of it all." She sighs. "I know, I know, he really shouldn't know a thing. And yet, here we are."

"Tohsaka-san." Rin jumps at the cold tone, and turns to see Kiritsugu flicking the safety off his pistol. "Your father is Tokiomi Tohsaka, correct?"

"A-Ah, yes." She nods. "Yes, he is."

"But then that means…"

A single audible footstep, far too close to have been anything but deliberate.

Like a ghost, the priest emerges from the other side of the altar, wearing simple vestments, a golden cross with a skull set into it around his neck, and a cassock. he smiles, half-smug, half-self-assured, and for some damnable reason has decided to style his hair into a mullet.

Emiya Kiritsugu looks at him with wide eyes.

He looks back with the widest grin imaginable.

"Ho? I did not expect _you_ to come tonight."

Rin huffs, not noticing Kiritsugu's expression. "I was bound to drop by eventually. We're here to register _him-"_ Rin pulls Shirou's arm up for him, "-as a Master for the 5th Holy Grail War. Write it down, fake priest, he's Emiya Shirou, the Master of Saber! Anyways, we're here to talk about another matter. The grail is-"

"I meant your _other_ strange guest, Rin-chan." She bristles at the nickname, but the priest simply does not _care._ The sheer number of fucks he does _not_ exude is something to behold. "And yes, about your other matter."

Kotomine Kirei spreads his arms wide, and his grin widens.

"Rejoice, Emiya Kiritsugu. The corruption of the Grail is no longer a problem."

* * *

The Fuyuki City Hyatt Hotel is the most glamorous and ostentatious of the hotels available in the city, boasting grand facilities and talented staff, all ready to tend to your every need… for the right price. Prices are exorbitant, but the service it pays for is well worth it, not to mention the spectacle of living in a palace brought to life. Reservations must be made months in advance, and all but the most high-rolling or politically powerful of guests are permitted access to the higher floors, where the grandest of rooms and services are reserved, all for the personal usage of the rich and powerful.

And the Penthouse of the Hyatt Hotel is the grandest of all, taking up the entire top floor and including a swimming pool, sauna, recreational room, and zen garden, on top of a room that looks and feels more like a really, _really_ expensive apartment. An apartment that has been reserved for the next two weeks by the ancient and powerful Edelfelt Family, for their young head will require a base to operate out of during her participation in the Heaven's Feel, and the Hyatt Hotel also has the fortune of being located near a leyline - a probable cause of its fortunes and prosperity.

Alas, right now, the young head of the Edelfelt Family is rather a bit _absolutely livid._

"Unacceptable. Absolutely _unacceptable_." Luviagelita Edelfelt glares at her Servant, who looks down at her with the cold simmering burn of contempt; Lancer was simply too tall to do anything else, and he refused to kneel. "You failed to defeat a single Servant, you got your identity revealed, you lost to a _Tohsaka,_ and you _broke a school."_

"Only a single courtyard," he clarifies smugly, and catches a Gandr curse bolt across the face for the snark.

"Don't talk back to me! I try to be a fair Master, but we had an agreement! No Collateral Damage, No Civilians!"

"I promised to _limit_ Collateral Damage," he snorts; Gandr didn't so much as singe his face visor. "I was unable to limit it, and none of the ungifted can be allowed to know of the Holy Grail War."

"I can see through your _eyes,_ Lancer, and you were _not_ restraining yourself. I can tell. And for the second, we have this matter called _memory erasure._ We simply had to catch him later on and wipe his mind." She scoffs. "Not that it matters, since he's become a new Master."

"His Servant is Saber," Lancer says, and growls. "One of the damnable Blood Angels, again. They speak of honor and duty; they are hypocrites, all of them. Not one can be trusted to have even a scrap of self-awareness. Their honor is nothing to them when the blood fury takes hold, and they abandon their duty at the drop of a hat to pursue their own agendas, separate to the Imperium. They speak of elegance and grace in all things; but of _course,_ such things would be _easy_ when your father is _the Great bloody Angel."_

"Compose yourself!" Luvia snaps, and Lancer glowers at her. "You are a Lancer, one of the Knight Class. More to the point, you are Servant of the Edelfelt. You _will_ hold yourself to a higher standard! You are _dead._ Your old conflicts are _nothing._ There is only the Grail, and there is only the War." She brushes at her blonde curls, still glaring at her impertinent Servant. "Do you understand?"

He snorts. "Very well, child, but know your place. I have fought for centuries. You have barely lived a fifth of one. I have forgotten more than you will _ever_ learn."

"...Well then, you truly leave me no choice." Luvia raises her right hand, and the brand of the Command Seal shines brightly, casting Lancer in glaring red light. "Lancer, I command thee! **Obey my orders absolutely, to the letter and the spirit!** "

A third of the pattern fades, leaving two behind. Lancer shudders, and snarls. "You… waste a Command Seal… for _that?!"_

"I did not waste it, I _spent_ it, for my Servant is brutish and incapable of _listening._ So." She taps her foot impatiently, arms crossed. "Shall you listen now?"

He looks up, hesitantly, and murderous rage pours forth from his helmet in palpable amounts. Luvia glares back with equal intensity, one completely at odds with her usual cordial demeanour.

"Fine," he spits. "But know that of what positive relationship we had, it is now nothing to me."

"It was never anything to you. It is only now that I realise it is nothing to _me._ " She shakes her head, eyes never once leaving the slits where Lancer's eyes would sit behind, were the helmet not fully sealed. "I am disappointed in you. I had thought you capable of charm and grace and nobility, all qualities of a knight. And yet, you are little more than a Berserker with some semblance of sanity."

"Charm, grace and nobility are for fools who do not have to fight the endless tides of the enemies of Man," he retorts. "They are a farce, a grand lie that everyone has deceived themselves with. Charm, grace and nobility do not win wars. Brutal efficiency and decisive action do."

"And you have shown only barbarism and brutality. Where is the efficiency and decisiveness you purport to have, Lancer, when all you have done is torment and torture for your own amusement?"

"Of course you would not understand. You are a noble, born into the lap of luxury. Your world, however much it resembles Holy Terra, has never known intergalactic strife, where a latent tear in the materium could take everything you once held dear and twist it all into a caricature where murder is currency and purple is a state of mind."

"Enough." She turns away, completely unable to accept the sight of him. "Return to spirit form. Do not come to me until the morning unless something of note occurs. Do you remember where you chased the boy, before you planned to murder him inside his own home?"

He looks at her flatly. "Yes."

She claps her hands, smiling… not _quite_ happily, but better than before. "Good. It is settled, then."

"You wish to finish the job?"

"I wish to apologise in person. And _you_ will apologise _with me._ Is that clear?"

Lancer has no words.

"I thought so."

"...Damn you, Master."

"Your curses are but music to my ears, oh dear Lancer of Blood. Please, insult me more. They will be a lullaby to my ears as I fall to sleep, whilst my fucks float off into the night alongside my weariness." With a smirk, she twirls on one foot and heads back to bed.

Lancer dematerialises in her wake, still shaking his head.

* * *

"So, Archer." Standing beside the crimson giant, looking up at the stars, Archer glances out the corner of his eye at the allied Servant. "Your sword skills. Where did you learn them?"

He smiles, thinking back to old memories, of a happier life before taking up the mantle. "A friend," the red man responds. "A girl, actually. She is small, shorter than we both are by a great margin, but she is the fiercest warrior I know. I daresay she's still better at swordplay than me."

He sighs, happily, while part of his mind racked to divert the topic. The longer they lingered, the more likely this Saber was to discover his connection with Shirou. Space Marines were unusually sharp, especially as they got older, and this one is old indeed. And dammit, though he will reveal it _eventually,_ he will do it on his own terms. The better to contain the fallout.

"From what I saw of your battle with Lancer, you're pretty good with the sword yourself. Surely, as one summoned as Saber, you could defeat me in sheer talent." In spite of himself - _because_ of himself - he could not help but smirk mischievously at that last statement.

Saber rumbles with laughter, still standing his post. "Of course, it takes more than sheer talent to win a fight. Plans, adaptability, and guile all matter. What does it matter that your opponent has a Cyclonic Torpedo when you finish him with a stab to the neck before he even deploys it?"

Archer looks at him with mild surprise and amusement. "Oh? I thought Sabers had to be honorable and knightly."

"Honor is for the dead and the foolish. Pride is much the same. In Duty and Victory, both shall follow in equal measure." Reciting a small catechism, Saber smiles exuberantly under his helmet - and somehow, Archer can tell. "Certainly, some things are beyond me. But I refuse to enter battle with any pretense that the enemy will be _fair._ War never is."

"No, it never is." What he knows of Space Marines is that they, to a man, bred for war and trained unerringly for that sole purpose, know it best. Some stick to honor. Some abandon it entirely. Most find a tenuous balance between the two; the truly great are the ones who find peace amidst the turbulent seas of war. "You were summoned in the 4th War, then? By Emiya Kiritsugu?"

He nods. "I was. And I remember everything. What of it?"

Ah. For a Servant to remember anything is… unusual. Is his circumstance like that of the Saber he knew, then? Refusing to die until his wish is attained? "And what do you feel about him?"

He shrugs. "His methods are ruthless, efficient, and utterly pragmatic. In many ways, he reminds me of an old friend. As a person, I respect him. He treated me as a tool early on, and I accept that, for I am a blade of the Emperor. We forged a strange friendship later on, but the terms of our agreement as Master and Servant were never questioned by either of us." He sighs. "But his ideals are utterly naive."

Archer quirks an eyebrow. Saber _likes_ his father, but finds conflict with his wish? "You believe so, Saber?"

"I know so. It is utterly naive to want to save everyone. It is utterly foolish to believe sacrificing the few to save the many will do anything but eventually cause extinction unless the root cause is destroyed. The best one can do is fight to save as many as one can, to the utmost of their power, and then die without regrets." He snorts a smile, and looks up to the night sky. "To be honest, I expected him to off himself in the aftermath of the 4th War. That he lives brings warmth to my heart about the strength of human will, even in the face of absolute despair. Perhaps now he knows better than to wish for the impossible."

"I see."

"And you, Archer? What rouses your interest in Emiya Kiritsugu?" Saber now looks at him, surely with a sly grin under that helmet. "Asking such questions out of the blue; if you had hoped to be discreet, Archer, then I am disappointed."

"Amuse an old man," Archer laughs in response. "He is the brat's old man. I wanted to know about the man that raised the punk, and who better than his old Servant?"

"I see, I see." Saber nods, and exhales. "You have agendas, Archer. I know that much. Little gets past one who once Mastered the Watch."

Archer's blood froze, and the first words of the first aria drifted past his mind.

"I care not for that. All men have agendas. I have my own. I simply want it to be known: harm my Master, present and past, and I will beat you to death against a cliff face until the last of my prana burns out."

The way he says it is so casual. It is almost like he was making a death threat to a friend as a joke. Though, as a Space Marine, that is more than likely.

Archer looks back sharply, with a grin. "I'll be sure to hunt them down, then."

"Hah! Archer, you cheeky mutt. This alliance was an excellent idea."

* * *

"Rejoice, Emiya Kiritsugu. The corruption of the Grail is no longer a problem."

The former Magus Killer shoots the priest twice, and the bullets bounce off bullet-resistant sleeves.

Shirou looks at his father with an expression like he just tried killing a priest.

Which… he kind of just did.

"Dad! What are you doing?!"

"Just making sure," he grunts, and stuffs the gun into his pants pocket without any further ceremony. "You, Kotomine Kirei. You should be _dead._ That Servant killed you, and pierced your heart."

"And yet, I live." He keeps his arms spread, palms pointed skyward, and bows. He does not seem to care that just moments ago, Emiya Kiritsugu tried to kill him. Indeed, it could be said he expected it. "Call it a miracle. My faith in my Saint has paid off."

"Your… Saint?"

"His Servant," both Rin and Kiritsugu say at the same time, and then share a look of shared understanding. The shared look that spoke of untold suffering of lectures and sermons in unending tides. They would much rather not have to deal with this sort of thing. But Kotomine Kirei had found something neither of them would understand.

He had found faith.

Kiritsugu clears his throat, and elaborates. "He summoned a Saint in the previous War, one known to be famous all over the Imperium. Through sheer bad luck, she was summoned into the Assassin Class, and she and Kotomine Kirei forged a _very_ close bond." He turns to look sharply at him. "She showed you an answer?"

"Indeed so." Kotomine says, arms clasped behind his back. "Where I was once lost, unable to understand why I was born, now I know. I live to bring judgement upon His enemies, and live my life as an Executor of His will. Ave Imperator."

Rin, for her part, just rolls her eyes, like she's heard that phrase a thousand times before. And she probably has. "What was that you said about the Grail?"

"Ah, of course, my apologies for being sidetracked." He turns, cassock rippling, and looks at all three of them. "The Grail is no longer corrupted. In the last War, my Assassin, Saint Sabbat, purified the Grail with her sacrifice against Avenger."

Kiritsugu shakes his head. "It is not enough. The taint of _two_ Fallen Servants is not something that can be undone by the work of a single Assassin. Were she Saver or even Ruler, it might have been possible, but-"

"The container that bore her soul is irrelevant. The soul it housed is a Saint, Holy, capable of purification. Not to mention that every other Servant in the war, your own Saber included, were all Space Marines or Imperial Saints themselves."

"Caster was not." Kiritsugu points fiercely in the vague direction of Shinto, the city where that battle was fought, where Saber, Lancer, Rider and Assassin all cooperated to strike the foul Servant down. "You know who he was. You know what he's done. You know the taint of his passing still plagues Shinto in its entirety, even ten years and numerous cleansing efforts later. That something like _that_ was summoned is proof that the Grail is irrevocably tainted. It had to be destroyed."

"I agreed with you then, for the Grail was not cleansed between the 3rd and 4th Wars. But," He adds, adding just a hint of emphasis, "The Grail was certainly cleansed between the 4th and 5th. Or would you purport that a maniac of a Servant has been summoned _this_ time?"

He says nothing, but glares at the priest. "The Grail is corrupt. I can _feel_ it. I _drowned_ in that mud. If something on that scale happens again-"

"It will _not._ " The fire, the _passion_ of his statement, shocks Shirou upright, eyes wide. He truly, honestly, believes. Shirou is inclined to believe his father - there is no way a cleansed Grail could summon something like _Lancer_ \- but the _way_ this Kotomine Kirei explains himself is… It is compelling. "The Emperor Protects."

"Hmph." Kiritsugu matches gazes with Kirei, unwilling to relent. He is right. He knows it in his old, cursed bones. He has suffered too many regrets, too many failures, too many betrayals to be wrong now. "Does the Church approve of you switching religions?"

"I am still one of the Christian Church, do not fret." He smiles. "One of the many identities of the God-Emperor, after all, was Jesus Christ. Now, Emiya Shirou."

"Wuh?" The redhaired youth points to himself. "Me?"

"No, the brunette who enjoys showing off her legs." He turns his gaze onto Rin, who is currently blushing a luminescent red. "Do you have any questions, Emiya Shirou?"

* * *

"So," Saber asks with a laugh, "How did things go?"

Since he asked after very clearly seeing a blushing Rin, a disgruntled Kiritsugu and a confused Shirou, it is completely obvious that Saber is enjoying himself. And from Archer's grin, they are _both_ having fun.

"Ah, Rin, you're blushing. What happened? You're redder than your coat." Archer's grin grows. "Did the punk propose to you?"

Against conventional logic, she turned redder. "Wha-"

"O-Oi, Archer, what are you-"

"No no, Archer, it is more than that." Saber leans in, chuckling in deep baritone that grows more and more menacing by the second. "The _priest_ proposed to her."

The air hangs still for a few seconds that stretch into eternity, and Shirou suddenly becomes intimately aware of the flickering lamp post down the road, how loud and cold the howling winds are in his ear, how many cracks there are in the asphalt road-

"Oh god," Kiritsugu sighs, and places both palms in front of his face. "There are _two_ of them. Shirou, please. Don't ever learn from his example."

He wants to, he really does. But somehow, for some strange ephemeral reason, Shirou cannot make that promise. "I, uh…"

"S-Stop it already! Come on, Shirou, stop them!" Rin tugs frantically at his jacket's collar, hard enough that he gets pulled along with it. He sneaks a glance back once or twice, and find that yes, Rin could well be a tomato wearing a (really nice and pretty and nice-smelling wait what) wig at this point. "A-Archer! Stop it! I-I am your _Master,_ and I will _not_ stand for this!"

The laughter of two Servants echoing into the night while Rin Tohsaka tries - and fails - desperately to stop them will forever be engraved into his memory.

* * *

The road home is uneventful; in the dead of the night, the streets of Shinto are completely barren. No one wants to be out at night in a place where people fall sick easily in the day.

No one sane or normal, that is. And whatever anyone says, a party composed of two teenagers, an older man, a young man with red hair, and a crimson-clad titan that towers and likely outweighs all of them combined is not a normal party. Not even on Fridays, where the parties get wild and the costumes get crazy.

Or so Taiga says.

Taiga is not a reliable source.

With little else to do and the novelty of teasing Rin wearing off, at least for the moment, they started making small-talk.

"So, Saber," Shirou asks, his arms folded behind his head. "Who _are_ you, really?"

If he was capable of it, Saber probably would have tripped over himself.

Rin and Kiritsugu would probably follow.

Archer just sighed, because he is Archer. "Dammit, kid. Old man, just what have you been teaching him?"

"Not enough, clearly." Kiritsugu clutches at his head, the sheer stupid clawing at his head. "Shirou, don't ask him that in the open."

"Eh?" He tilts his head. "What's wrong about that?"

"Idiot." Rin prods him at the back of the head, twice, and lords over him from behind. "Other Masters may well be paying attention as we speak! If they find out about your Servant's identity, they could start making plans and exploit his weaknesses!"

He blinks owlishly. "But you're here, right?"

"W-What?!" For the second time that night, Rin flushes red. "A-I-You- _How naive are you, you idiot?!"_

For good measure, she slaps him on the back of the head, hard enough for him to flinch.

"Wha-but we're in an alliance, aren't we?!"

"Y-Yeah, but still-"

"Ah," Kiritsugu sighs, somewhat bemused but mostly nostalgic. "Young love."

"Indeed," Archer says, also sighing. "Young people and their idiot love dramas."

Saber just grunts and shakes his head. "Mortals. Regardless, Master!"

Rin and Shirou look up from their lovers' scuffle, notice their compromising positions, and hurry back into a more proper formation while blushing brightly. Again, Shirou is thankful that the streets are mostly barren at this time of the night. "Yeah, Saber?"

"I wouldn't tell you my identity, even if we _were_ alone!"

"Why?"

"It is more interesting this way."

" _Whaaaaaat."_

Archer didn't know whether to laugh or sigh.

"T-That can't be fair, can it?" Shirou looks at Rin, who bears much the same expression - and some sympathy. "He can't do that, can he?"

"I don't know, this usually isn't a problem…" She glowers at Archer, who smiles brightly back. He even gives a thumbs up. " _Usually._ "

"Archer hasn't told you either?"

"Archer apparently _forgot._ "

"Not my fault, someone put a faulty Master in the way~"

The high-five that both red Servants shared would be mistaken for a particularly loud thunderbolt the next morning.

"Ah! There is another way! Dad, you used to be Saber's Master, right?"

"I'm not telling either," Kiritsugu hums.

Shirou sighs, slumps his shoulders, and buries his face into his jacket hood.

Well, he would, if he did not lend his hoodie to his father.

Dammit, dad. "Well, will you tell me eventually?"

"Hm." Saber raises a finger to his chin, as if thinking about it.

He obviously isn't. "Nope."

"But don't I have three Command Seals that compel absolute obedience?"

"Do you _really_ want to spend them like this, my little Master?"

"Ugh. Saber, for someone so big, you really are very small and petty."

"I'm dead, I'm allowed to be petty." He laughs, and pats Shirou on the back lightly. Lightly for Space Marines and Servants, anyway; it still feels like someone punched him. It was harder than Rin's slap, too. He would comment that Saber hits like a girl - he needs to win the verbal jousting _sometimes_ \- but the truth was they both hit like runaway trucks. "Alright, Master, I'll tell you when we get back home. But only because you amuse me."

"That makes one of us," Archer smirks. For the fifth time that night, Shirou desperately wanted to stab Archer.

"So, Emiya-san." Rin asks, and Kiritsugu turns to her with a quizzical grunt. "I wanted to ask you this earlier, but it didn't seem appropriate. Did you-"

"Ah, onii-chan, you came! You came, like I thought you would!"

At the top of the road, a little girl, barely a day over ten, looks down at Shirou with bright eyes. Her sparkling long white hair glimmers in the moonlight, clearly lovingly cared for. Her large red eyes are like rubies, shining, shimmering, splendid. Her bearing, her clothing, her appearance is all unmistakable; she is probably born of an old, powerful family. She's probably a Princess.

And she's the same girl he met the previous night, on the way home. Who told him to summon 'it' before it was too late. Only now did he know what 'it' was.

But what was _she_ doing here? So late, at night? Where are her parents?

Saber moves quickly, the joints of his armor snarling as he darted into position in front of him. A massive hulking shape manifests from nothingness beside the little albino girl, clad in power armor much like his own Servant. But unlike Saber, his armor is… larger. Bulkier. More intimidating. If Saber is a giant, this new Servant is as the titans that shaped the world; too large to put to words.

"Master. Rin. Get back." Saber snarls, and draws his knives. "She is a Master. Archer, go to high ground, far from here. Your maximum operational range."

The Knight of the Bow nods, not concerned that Saber is giving him orders. His logic is sound, and this foe does not sit well with him. "You know him?"

"I probably do, which is a problem. Anyone I knew in life who manifests in Terminator Armor is _not_ a foe to be trifled with." Just like Lancer. He readjusts his grip. "Tread lightly. I advise you, all of you, stay out of this fight."

Archer nods, and vanishes from sight.

Kiritsugu, for his part, is quiet.

The girl's eyes narrow in confusion. "Onii-chan, who's that beside you?"

"I-I…" Kiritsugu is trembling, his eyes wide and wet with tears. He almost smiles - almost. "I-Ilya…?"

The little girl - Ilya - looks at him, and her eyes slowly widen in recognition as the seconds pass.

"K-Ki...Kirit...sugu?"

"...Damnations. Master, get him out of here."

Shirou blinks. "S-Saber? I don't-"

"For his sake, Master. Get away, all of you. Now!"

The road beneath Emiya Kiritsugu is stained wet with tears that fall freely from his face, streaming down from his eyes, down his cheeks, and drip down from his jaw. "I-Ilya… You're..."

"KIRITSUGU!" She snarls with fury and _hatred_ that no one of her apparent age should be capable of, and her Servant howls empathetically. "BERSERKER! KILL THEM! KILL _ALL OF THEM!"_


	4. Chapter 3

_**Fate/Red Chalice**_

 _ **+Thought of the Day: Peace is but a prelude to the oncoming storm of War.+**_

* * *

"BERSERKER! KILL THEM! KILL _ALL OF THEM!"_

The Grey Terminator lurches, and then vanishes from sight.

For a moment, the air freezes, swelling with the intensity.

In the next, a grey titan - a titan he is, far too big for words to describe in the scant fragments of time Emiya Shirou can even imagine to perceive - appears in a crater of his own making, swinging a gargantuan two-headed axe - the _Axe of Morkai,_ a voice whispers in his ear - at his father, who has fallen to his knees, mouth agape and tears flowing uncontrollably.

Time seems to slow down, but Berserker is fast even then, moving at 'normal' speeds relative to normal men and women while he inches at a snail's pace. His instincts howl and scream and kick inside him, shouting for him to do something, _anything,_ to save _Emiya Kiritsugu._

 _The landscape is ablaze_

He can't-

 _People are dying_

He _won't._

 _Everything is covered in mud_

"Trace, on!"

Against a monstrous axe composed of materials that will not be discovered for millennia, wielded by a wolfish Angel of Death with arms that could bench press _trucks,_ all Emiya Shirou could produce was a stick fortified with Reinforcement and elbow grease. Were the situation any calmer, someone, _anyone,_ even himself, would have fought for the opportunity to point out how _absurd_ that scenario sounds.

But right now, there is no time to think, to reconsider, to second-guess. There is only the _do,_ in the _now._ Consequences are for the Shirou of the future to consider.

He _throws_ himself, sailing through the air, between the axe blade and his father. He will not let him get hurt. He will not let _anyone_ get hurt tonight. And if he dies in the process, so be it. It is not ideal, but it is better than the alternative.

He will not let the ones he loves die anymore.

Inches from contact, Shirou clams his eyes shut.

There is a bright flash, a deafening clash, and the sound of shattering glass.

Shirou feels himself sailing through the air, his stomach dropping far _far_ below where it should be, and rams into a grassy knoll with his shoulder.

Eyes open, and he finds the stick still in his hand, his father beside him, and a red giant clashing against a grey titan, the broken remnants of what were once knives in his hands.

"I told you not five seconds ago, Master!" Saber rolls out the way of an overhead swing far too focused to be wild, and far too savage to be graceful. He can barely see the blur of battle, red merging with grey in a whirling typhoon of color and motion, with the clash-shatter of knife on axe resounding every fourth strike. "Take your father! Run, and don't stop!"

"Sabe-"

"GO, SHIROU!"

A shudder passes over him, and he drops the stick.

He can't stay. He'll die.

Saber will die protecting him.

 _That,_ too, is unacceptable.

"Then I'll leave him to you, Saber!"

He picks his father up, practically scooping him up like soup in a bowl, and forces prana into his legs faster than he's ever done before. His circuits, all twenty seven, flare up almost painfully. Green lines trace themselves over the nerves and muscle fibers in his legs, and a simple two words impose themselves in his mind.

" _Trace, on."_

He turns to the woods, where there is cover and shelter and ways to evade pursuit, and breaks off into a run, legs pumping as hard as they permit. Fortified by prana or not, there is a limit to human endurance. And he is reaching it far, far faster than he would like.

That his father, a stoic man even at the worst of times, is crying into his shoulder is _not_ making matters any easier to cope with.

Dammit dad.

He reaches the treeline, lungs burning figuratively and legs burning _literally,_ and slows down long enough to sneak a peek back at the park.

And in the distance, he spots it.

Saber's third sword.

His Noble Phantasm.

* * *

 _Invictus: the Crimson Blade of Duty._

 _Sword of Aurelius Asterion, Sword Saint of the Blood Angels, final student of Lord Commander Cervan Dante, once-Lord in Crimson Clad, Chapter Master of the Crimson Crusades Chapter._

 _Now, Crimson Archangel of the Blood Angels Chapter._

 _Last Master of the Blood Angels._

 _Final Testament of the Last Archangel._

* * *

He gasps, clawing his eyes shut at the sheer _influx_ of information hurling through his brain, like someone tossed a rock made of harddisks at his skull and tried to upload _all the data at once._ Even in his haste to peel himself away from the dizzying duel of talent and strength between both Space Marines, from drinking deep of Saber's sword, he set Kiritsugu down gently against a slope in the woods.

In the distance he hears explosions, one after the other, occurring at a frankly-disquieting pace.

Overhead, what remains of a Gandr curse strikes a tree branch and blows it off, like a frag grenade.

He shudders. Where is Tohsaka?

For that matter, where is the little girl? Where is Ilya?

 _Who_ is Ilya?

He looks at Kiritsugu, brow furrowed, and hurries off further into the woods.

* * *

Fifteen ethereal familiars composed of string hammer away at the trees she is using as cover, blasting away with glowing blue bolts of energy that chip away deep gouges of wood with every strike at a rate of at _least_ five per second. While that happens, five more move to flank her, forcing her to move to new cover at every opportunity while _trying_ not to get shot and _shooting back,_ because for some strange reason _the little girl could make ten of those at a time._

The white hair and red eyes confirm that she is a homunculus, clearly of Einzbern make, but it does not explain _how much prana she has,_ or _how good she is at summoning familiars seriously this is unfair._

Throwing herself into a trench, underneath a bramble of roots, and sliding on her back, she takes out three familiars with several bolts of red-black energy. Climbing out as quickly as she could, ignoring the leaves and branches stuck to her clothes and hair, the young Tohsaka keeps running for cover, trying to rack her brains for some sort of _plan._ Just how do you fight an angry little albino girl with apparently-infinite prana and a major grudge against the boy you like Emiya-kun's father without dying in the process?

Right now, she's still struggling for _that_ solution. If only Archer were here… but apparently his boyfriend Saber 'borrowed' him for fire support against Berserker.

Though, Berserker is apparently _that bad._

Gandr is just about the only reason she is still alive right now. She's low on gems, low on prana, and support from either Emiya-kun or Archer was _clearly_ not forthcoming. And, frankly, she didn't want to use her father's pendant just yet.

Instinct born of years of martial arts reach out suddenly. Feeling it more than seeing it, Rin _knows_ that three long, blade-like, incredibly-fast projectiles were headed right for the back of her skull.

Screaming, she drops onto her butt, and finds three sword familiars composed of the same ethereal string as the others embedded almost halfway into the dirt.

What is this. What is this even.

Why wasn't she doing this from the start?!

Six more swords pierce through a thick wall of wood, and Ilya climbs right over the newly-severed stumps. Her face is red, her eyes bloodshot, and she's panting. Clearly, she's feeling the strain.

That's it. She's tired too. Rin just has to outlast her.

"Why, Rin?!" Rin blinks, surprised that she knows her name. She summons three more birds, and they morph themselves into swords. Eight more fly from elsewhere around her head like a crown of magical feathery _death,_ and Ilya _snarls_ at her. "Why do you help _him_ when he _abandoned me?!"_

"What are you-"

Six familiars turn into swords as well, and all nine are pointed right at her. Rin considers the options; she has three gems, enough prana in her circuits for a few seconds of sustained Gandr-shooting, and her father's pendant. Ilya has nine swords, two familiars-

Twelve more bird familiars fly in from above, apparently survivors from their earlier exchange.

- _fourteen_ familiars, and who-knows-how-much-more-prana.

The odds are horrible. For her.

For a little girl _she has far too much energy._

"ANSWER ME! _RIN!"_

Three shots ring out in the woods. Instantly, Ilya's familiars form around her as a shield, and the bullets bounce off ineffectually.

Shirou steps out from behind a tree, a pistol held shakily in his hands.

A pistol, Rin realises, that his father brought.

 _Dammit, Emiya-kun! If she realises your father is nearby-_

"Why, Ilya?" His voice is even, even though everything else on his body is trembling. "Why are you attacking us? Why are you trying to kill dad?"

"He abandoned me and mom _FOR YOU!"_

All nine swords flicker, and dart right at Shirou.

Nine glowing red arrows pierce into them, and detonate in mid-flight.

That was incredibly well-timed, but what the-

 _My apologies, Rin. The battle with Berserker is not going well._ _I'm sorry, but I'll have to leave Ilya to you two._

It was surreal. Her candid, rude, annoying Servant is professional and serious and utterly apologetic. For once, she actually _feels_ like a Master, and that is the strange part. Archer isn't snarking at her or teasing her for any number of things. He is legitimately too busy to spare even _that_ much attention for a quick joke.

 _Try to calm her down. Ilya is not a bad person._

She blinks. How does he know that.

 _She's a little girl. What kind of little girl is bad?_

...Archer is being far too free with reading her thoughts.

 _No comment._

In the distance, towards the park, a dome of light erupts skywards, the shockwave felt even through the woods.

What is going _on_ with Berserker?

"I-Ilya, please!" Shirou's hands are trembling. Ilya is trembling. _She_ is trembling. Twelve familiars continue flapping above her head, forming a protective ring, a halo of birds over an angelic ten year old. "Trying to kill him won't fix anything! Just hear him out!"

"HE'S HAD TEN YEARS TO SAVE ME! _TEN YEARS!"_ Ilya's outright bawling at this point, an outburst that goes beyond a tantrum and straight into the woes of someone with actual issues. _"WHY DIDN'T HE SAVE ME?!"_

Twelve more familiars form.

" _WHY, SHIROU?!"_

Twelve more form.

" _ **WHY?!"**_

Yet another twelve form.

Thirty six autonomous familiars, each capable of serving as an independent gun drone.

Just what are the Einzberns capable of?

 _Rin, watch out, he's-_

At once, every single familiar turns into a sword, and hurl themselves at Shirou.

Within the span of a second, every single one is intercepted by Archer's arrows, and detonated prematurely.

And when the smoke clears, where Ilya once stood, now stands Berserker, no worse for wear since the first time they saw him.

With Ilya on his shoulder, he _roars_ , and brings his axe _down._

* * *

The ground shatters under the force of the Axe of the Death Wolf, and it screeches a static-filled wail with every swing and clash. Ilya lays over his shoulder, now content to let her mad, gigantic, murderous Servant do all the work. Emiya Kiritsugu is not too far away, within eyesight of them through the trees. Shirou has his father's pistol and five bullets remaining. Tohsaka Rin is behind him, and has barely anything left.

Two Masters against one Servant, even an Assassin, would be an unequivocal victory for the Servant.

Two Servants against Berserker and his Master, who can draw upon absurd amounts of prana while still powering their Servant and possesses the capability to summon many, _many_ highly-autonomous hunter-killer bird familiars that _also transform into swords,_ is less of a battle than… he cannot even find the words. This is not a massacre. This is not a butchering. This is not even pest control.

This is a _chore._ One so minor, so inconsequential, so boring, that one would put it off to the very last minute because they could finish it in _seconds._

There is nothing else to do. Nothing else that can be done.

Emiya Shirou raises his left hand, and the Command Seals glow faintly.

"Saber, I command yo-"

Berserker shifts, lifting his axe up just barely in time. Saber crashes into the Old Wolf from above, Invictus in both hands, and just barely misses both Berserker and Ilya's head. Sparks fly from where Invictus and Morkai meet, and a shockwave erupts that blows branches off and tosses dust upwards into a fog.

The Mad Wolf forces him off with the sheer strength imparted to him by his genes and centuries of war, and the Crimson Archangel lands neatly on his feet, between Berserker and both Shirou and Rin. His armor is scratched in multiple areas, a deep cut lining the side of his right greave and on his chest. Saber breathes heavily, but never takes his eyes off of the larger Servant.

Saber has arrived.

They now have a chance.

* * *

Atop the skyscraper, he can see everything.

In life, as Emiya Shirou, he preferred watching the city from rooftops and skyscrapers. With reinforced eyes, and now with a Servant's eyes, he can see four kilometers around him with perfect clarity. Armed with a bow and his assortment of blades, there is little he cannot hit from such a high place.

And now, with his eyes on the park and the battle within the woods, there is no doubt that he will need every last bit of his expertise as a bowman and a swordsman in equal measure. This wolfman, Logan Grimnar, High-King of Fenris and Great Wolf of the Space Wolves Chapter, is a murderous beast. It is as if someone had taken Herakles from his own 5th Grail War, given him a suit of power armor from forty thousand years in the future, all the skill of Saber, and an infinite amount of mana to hurl at his foes. He will not be an easy enemy.

But as a Beast of Alaya, as a Counter Guardian, he is not the toughest foe he has ever fought.

Prana erupts from a skyward palm like a flower in bloom, presenting a curved, spiral sword, more like a drill than a blade. Caladbolg, after his own alterations to become the perfect projectile, one that no defense may deny.

He nocks the fake spiral sword and _pulls_. The coils of the swirling blade lengthen, thin, stretch out into a more aerodynamic shape. The crossguard flattens and the pommel secures against the bowstring. He draws the bow to full, red prana pouring out, burning, like an inferno.

Like the Great Fire.

He secures his aim, and tracks the grey giant with his eyesight. His setup was complete.

Saber had two minutes before he let loose. And he knows it.

* * *

"Apologies, Master," he says grimly, "I could not hold him." He snorts, and produces two more combat knives. Shirou would wonder where and how he keeps pulling them out, but right now that is inconsequential. "We have a lull in the fight. Tell me, Master. Do we fight or run?"

Shirou replies immediately, the answer clear for all to see. It would be an idiot who would continue to fight under such absolutely hopeless odds. "Berserker will just catch up to us. How do we run?"

Saber balances his knives on armored fingertips, not so much as twitching a muscle. "Archer and I have a plan, Master, but I need you to trust me completely. The both of you," He adds, glancing at RIn. Rin, who is looking at him like he ate a squirrel whole, through his helmet.

Shirou nods. "Of course, Saber. Do everything you can to get all of us out of here."

"W-Wait, when did you an Archer talk-"

"We made idle conversation while you three talked in the Church. The conversation drifted over to how to fight hopelessly strong enemies." Saber snorts. "I doubt it would work against Logan Grimnar, Great Wolf of the Space Wolves Legion, but it should slow him down. We haven't conversed since the fight began, but I trust he'll know when to fire, and I believe he'll trust me to commit to that horrible, horrible idea." He sighs, though not entirely out of resignation or annoyance, and looks straight at Berserker.

 _Shirou,_ Saber's voice reverberates in his head. _Take Rin. Go to your father. Get ready to run._

"What?"

* * *

Two minutes are up. _I am the Bone of my Sword._

"Caladbolg!"

He lets fly the Fake Spiral Sword, and it rips a swirling tunnel through time and space across the night sky.

* * *

The Spiral Sword takes two seconds to reach its target.

One second passes, and Saber is in motion.

One and a half, and Berserker swerves to dodge out of the way.

He moves too late, and catches its spiral tip on his left shoulder, opposite Ilya.

Caladbolg II pierces through the Terminator Aegis of Logan Grimnar, relentless and stalwart even in the face of massed artillery bombardment, up to its second coil.

Then it detonates, and consumes a quarter of the forest in a fiery conflagration. A massive blue dome of prana and sheer _force_ expands out from the epicenter of the blast rapidly, consuming all in its path. Trees are torn from their roots by the sheer devastation of the strike, and secondary shockwaves rip topsoil from the ground and slap it against what flora that remains.

The fireball expands, and then violently contracts. An intensely powerful vacuum, wrenching back what it had just been violently pushing away, with all the force of a strategic cruise missile strike - no, a thermobaric explosive.

It is only through good luck or excellent planning - and he doubts Saber planned this that far out - that Shirou and Rin and Kiritsugu found a trench deep enough to avoid the very worst of the blast. And even so, the tremors that rock through the ground still shook him to his very core, his ears continue to ring loudly, and a thin layer of dirt covers the top of his rusty red hair.

He can still feel the vibrations under his skin, in his bones, in his very core. He is still vibrating, and the sensation is only starting to deaden a minute or two after it finally ends.

He turns to Tohsaka, who is screaming her lungs out. Or she looks like it. Kiritsugu doesn't seem to be reacting, and he can't hear a damn thing.

Maybe reinforcing his ears back to usability for now would be wasted effort.

But his eyes turn back to the battle between giants, and Berzerker is still standing. Scratched, wounded, his entire left shoulder pauldron blown off and the arm beneath it bleeding viciously, but still standing.

And he heaves a sigh of relief to see that Ilya, too, is alive.

What the hell was Archer thinking?

From the shadow behind a blackened tree, with silence that belied his speed and grace, Saber bursts forth at the speed of sound, Invictus singing proudly the song of war as he flies towards Berserker seemingly on wings of light.

No. That light belongs to his blade, as its glow has intensified a hundredfold.

His eyes widen in recognition, and the Crimson Archangel invokes his holy sword's name.

"INVICTUS!"

Twenty meters away from the Mad Servant, Saber vanishes from mortal sight. Shirou cannot track him. Is it speed? Illusions? Temporary self-erasure from existence?

Berserker roars, unable to intercept with the Axe of Morkai, and instead flails fiercely with his limp arm.

Memories rise up through the bog in his mind, and realisation peeks through. It is neither of those things.

It is a guarantee.

Saber appears right in his face, and spears his glowing sword forward through Logan Grimnar's thick, veiny, armor-clad neck. He screams and roars, more in surprise than in pain, and bucks while Saber continues to ride him with Invictus speared through his neck.

"BERSERKER!"

Perched on Berserker's shoulder, Ilya tries to intervene, and summons forth a pair of winged familiars. Saber intercepts instantly, his hands blurring, and two winged familiars embed themselves in the ground with knives pierced through them before fading away into misty motes of prana.

Berserker, Logan Grimnar, leans back past the point of no return, and begins falling weightily onto the forest floor, Saber bracing on his chest.

Almost instantly he springs back to life, _howling_ with ferocity that could kill mortal men with terror alone, and swings at Saber with clawed hands. The Crimson Servant throws himself back, out the way of the swipe, pulls Invictus free of the Grey Berserker's neck, and kicks off his chest before Grimnar hits the ground.

He backflips, twice, sheathes Invictus, and lands right on top of Shirou. "Time to go."

Scooping up Shirou, Rin, and Kiritsugu like plush toys, Saber tears through the woods and into the streets. Behind them, a third of the forest lay burning and shattered, with trees falling as far as the other side of the park. A Servant and two Masters nearly died, with a third former Master rendered unresponsive.

In total, the battle had been ten minutes.

* * *

The battle is over. Disengagement is successful.

His part complete, Archer hops off the skyscraper and melds into the night sky.

* * *

Kneeling over Berserker's prone form, Ilyasviel von Einzbern placed her hands in the palm of his left. They were so small, so soft, so delicate compared to his. His were rough, calloused, large enough to grasp a man's skull and crush it without effort. Hands forged by war. Hands _made_ for war.

Teardrops fall upon the shattered remnants of his armor, and the pale albino homunculus cries into her Servant's exposed shoulder. Kiritsugu is alive. Kiritsugu is clearly alive, yet he didn't save her. He was raising another child, raised him to become a Master, and summoned the same Servant. The same Saber. The same _Aurelius Asterion._

It should have been her. She should have been with Kiritsugu.

She should have been with _Daddy._

Coils snarling, the furious haze of Mad Enhancement lifted for the moment, Berserker moves to pat her head with his armored right hand.

"Y-You're strong, Berserker." She looks up at her Servant, through his helmet, through his visor, at the bearded man within. The stab wound in his neck is already healing, caked over with steel, and his shoulder has already mended shut with a vicious, large scar where the spiral sword struck him. "Y-You're… you're the strongest."

He snorts, and holds her tighter. Feeling the contact, Ilya smiles genuinely for the first time in ten years.

* * *

Saber lands in front of the Emiya residence with a hefty thud, Rin and Kiritsugu in his arms and Shirou thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The ground splits under his feet, cracking into a deep crater beneath the weight of ceramite and steel. Archer lands behind him moments later, his footfall much lighter and quieter than the Crimson Archangel.

The return home was ten minutes, just as long as the battle against Berserker. But the fight against Berserker felt like it stretched months, lasting an eternity that would never, ever end even in death. The imprint of Berserker howling burned into his mind, but it is the image of Ilya _screaming_ in rage that will haunt Shirou's nightmares. Someone so young, so delicate, yet so dangerous and _angry._ That is a child that walks the path of a Magus? Who walks the line between life and death daily? That didn't… It didn't seem right.

"As first days go, this is much more of a spectacle than the 4th War." Saber sets down all three passengers relatively gently, though there is no doubt that Air Saber is not the most gentle ride. Kiritsugu is back to normal now, more or less, though he is still moody. He speaks, he reacts, but he is quite clearly sad. No one could mistake him for anything else. "If there is nothing else, Master, I would recommend you go back inside."

"Actually, Saber," Shirou said, "I wanted to ask you a few things."

"In the morning. Space Marines need little sleep, and Servants need none at all - but Masters do. All of you do." He looks at Kiritsugu, musing, and then turns to Rin. "Go home, Rin. Your assistance to my hopeless Master is appreciated, but it would be safer for you if you slept in your own home."

"Yeah, Tohsaka," Shirou concurs. "I'll see you tomorrow, I guess."

"Nah, I'm sleeping here tonight."

"Ah, that's good to-" Shirou looks at her. "Wuh?"

Saber grunts in disapproval as well, and crosses his arms. "A Magus like yourself most likely has a more defensible home than my Masters, both former and present. Go home."

Kiritsugu, for his part, looks at a pebble on the roadside with a listless expression.

Shirou sighs. He had hoped his father would chip in. And he had also hoped to be alone with him to ask some very pointed questions.

She looks at Archer with a dangerous grin, and the red Servant returns the look with a worried frown. "We're in an alliance, right? I'll sleep here tonight. Archer, could you go home and get my things? Clothes, some reagents, more gems…"

"Would you like your dresser to go along with that?" He asks with a tired sigh.

She claps her hands together and smiles brightly. It is not a nice smile. "Yes, actually! Thank you for offering, Archer! I expect those things over by the morning."

"Guh…" Wordlessly, he matches gazes with Saber.

For that one, fleeting moment, both Servants exchange a moment.

And as a fellow male, Shirou bears the unique-yet-ubiquitous ability of reading their conversation, one born by gender, visual cues, and shared experience.

 _You have it lucky, Saber._

 _You have it rough, Archer._

 _Save me._

 _I cannot._

The red Servant vanishes, leaving Rin smiling, happy, and absolutely terrifying. But right now, the Red Devil is not his concern.

He turns, and finds Kiritsugu looking at him. He knows it is time, but he is reluctant to speak. He wants Shirou to drop the matter, for tonight at least, and leave him be. He wants everyone present to simply forget, to simply not think about the little girl named Ilyasviel von Einzbern.

But fortune is not with him.

"Dad, who is Ilya?"

Kiritsugu smiles tiredly at his adopted son and the Second Owner. He looks so small like this. So old, and so weak. Just absolutely exhausted, unable to carry on with anything in his life. "I'll tell you in the morning, Shirou. You too, Tohsaka-san. You deserve to hear this as well." He sighs, shoulders slumping. "But not tonight."

"Tonight, Kiritsugu," Saber says, his arms crossed and his gaze upon Emiya Kiritsugu. "Tell them everything about the little Master tonight. Of your past. Of your wish. Tell them, or I will."

With those final words, he vanishes.

* * *

"...Ilyasviel von Einzbern is my daughter."

He speaks first, hands resting on his lap. There is little time to waste, and his attention wavers. Emiya Kiritsugu hasn't been able to pull all-nighters ever since the Holy Grail War. Indeed, he wakes up late most of the time simply because he is _that tired._

Nursing a cup of green tea, Shirou nearly spits it out all over the newly-repaired coffee table. It takes a great deal of effort, rivaling that of Atlas as he holds the world up on his shoulders, to force it down his throat instead.

Rin, however, is far more unflappable than she usually seems.

She chokes on a pastry instead.

Internally, Kiritsugu sighs. He was hoping this wouldn't happen.

"D-Dad, you're…" He blinks. "Wait, but… She looks no older than ten."

"She's eighteen," the former Magus Killer explains. "I fathered her before I found you, in the Fire. The only reason she still looks like that is…" He clenches his hands tightly, painfully so, until his knuckles turn white. "I fought in the 4th War as representative for the Einzberns. When I destroyed the Grail, they saw it as betrayal, and banished me. I've been trying to save her, but with my sickness…"

"Dad…" Shirou blinks, and then frowns like the truth was staring in his face the entire time. And in a way, it was. "Is that why you'd vanish for months on end sometimes?"

Kiritsugu nods, quietly. Rin is still choking. Is the younger Tohsaka that surprised? He never met Tokiomi Tohsaka personally, but he's probably rolling in his grave. "I drowned in the mud, before I ordered Saber to destroy it. I was cursed by the taint. If not for pure luck, I would have died five years ago, and I would have never found that flaw in _your_ magecraft."

"Ah, yeah…" Shirou flushes red, scratching the back of his head. "That was… it was pretty dumb, wasn't it?"

"Very dumb, yeah."

Rin goes from choking to explosive in less than five seconds.

Tokiomi must be spinning hard enough to invent a new Sorcery now, based around drills and rotation.

"What flaw?!"

"I was reproducing a brand new Magic Circuit every time I used magecraft from my nerves," Shirou explains sheepishly, slowly trying to inch away from Rin's side of the able. "It was very, _very_ dangerous, and very painful."

"You _what?!"_ She glares at Kiritsugu, the wordless threat conveyed perfectly through pure, relentless killing intent. One of her veins on her forehead bulged, even. To Shirou, this must be just as terrifying as fighting Berserker, if not more so.

To him, it wasn't even in the top hundred scariest things he has fought. That one time against a Dead Apostle was pretty awful though. "In retrospect I really should have caught on sooner." The elder Emiya sighs, rubbing at his forehead as memories resurface. That Dead Apostle was _really_ awful. "Six years, Shirou. You could have killed yourself at any time in those six years."

Saber manifests beside Kiritsugu, armored hand on his shoulder. He feels his old Servant smile unkindly through his helmet. No, it is kind, from a certain point of view. Tough love was sort of friendly. "Tangents, Kiritsugu. No more tangents."

And then he vanishes.

Kiritsugu glances down at his cup, and finds all of his piping hot green tea missing. Saber drank it all again, through a helmet. Shirou looks absolutely baffled. He'll learn.

Dammit Saber.

"Ah, yes that's right!" Rin clears her throat, blinks, and practically throws herself across the table. "YOU FATHERED ILYA?!"

He nods. "Yes."

Her eye twitches, and Shirou inches even further from the young Tohsaka. "You. Fathered. A Homunculus."

He nods again. "...Yes."

She looks at him, eyes narrowed. "You fathered quite possibly the most powerful Master in this War, with the most capable Servant, and she has a vested interest in making sure you die horribly."

"She won't want me dead." A single tear runs down from a blank, expressionless eye. "Death is only a release. She'll want me alive and suffering. And I cannot begrudge her."

"Dad, no! I'm sure she'd understand if-"

"Whatever has happened to her, all the blame falls entirely on me." He closes his eyes, gathering his wits. "No doubt the old fart Acht fed her lies about me abandoning her, to turn her against me. He was always a spiteful old man. But to modify her body, to _force_ her to remain at that appearance even now…" He sighs, rueful and exhausted. "Ilya should look eighteen right now, a young adult in the prime of her life. As possibly the only natural-born homunculus ever, she had a long life ahead of her. As it is, she is no doubt the Grail Vessel, hastily made for this early War.

 _Hey, Kerry? What do you want to be when you grow up?_

"She hates me, and she has a year to live at most. She will stop at nothing to get her revenge." Kiritsugu lowers his head, laughing grimly. "I suppose I should have given myself up, back at the park. Neither of you should have fought."

"Don't talk like that, dad! I-I'm sure she'd understand if you talked to her-"

 _You were like a son to me._

"Shirou. I failed her. I failed her mother. I subjected her to ten years of loneliness and torture. In all likelihood, Berserker is a better father figure than I am." He leans back, his lips a thin, straight line.

 _You shouldn't cry. Save those tears for your wife._

"Its funny. My entire life has been spent betraying the women that have made it worth living. Shirley, Natalia, Maiya, Iri, now Ilya…" He snorts, in a manner not unlike the Crimson Sword-Saint, and rises onto his feet. "I'm sorry, Shirou, but I can't stay up any longer. I'll tell you the rest tomorrow."

 _Welcome back, Kiritsugu!_

"I… I see." He nods. "No matter what, dad, you're my hero. I won't give up on you."

"...Thank you, Shirou. For everything."

 _I love you, Kiritsugu._

He turns, heading off to his room.

Rin speaks. "Emiya-san."

He stops, glancing over his shoulder at the Second Owner. Does she suspect?

She shakes her head, and smiles kindly. "No, it's… it's nothing. Good night, Emiya-san."

She doesn't suspect. No, the look in her eyes. Too sharp. Too perceptive. Too _knowing_ to not consider the possibility. She suspects. She absolutely does.

And she's willing to let it go, at least tonight, for an old man.

The old, tired man smiles. Battered and broken by life, it is the small mercies that keep him going. Small mercies, and Shirou. "Good night, Tohsaka-san. Good night, Shirou."

* * *

"What was that about, Tohsaka?" Shirou looks pointedly at the young Head of the Tohsaka Family, now a house of one - albeit, one very powerful young Magus. "Tohsaka?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow," she replies lazily, already headed for one of the guest rooms. Presumably, she saw one on the way in, when she jumped over the wall. "Night, Emiya-kun."

There is a loud thud from the backyard.

Seconds later, Archer pulls the sliding door open, smiling smugly.

Shirou peeks around it to confirm that yes, he _did_ in fact bring the dresser with him. "You realise she was kidding, right?"

He shakes his head, laughing softly like one would to an ignorant child. "Listen, kid. You can't just take what she dishes out. You have to fight back. Fight for your manhood!"

Shirou just sighs. "Saber?"

"Yeah." He manifests instantly beside Shirou, surely grinning behind his helmet. "This will be glorious to behold."

"You are just as bad as he is. I swear it." Turning, he gives his Servant a dirty look. "Aren't you a Chapter Master?"

"Oh? So you figured it out?" At that, he shrugs lazily. "Responsibility is for the living, my young Master."

"Is it? Or are you simply making fun of me?"

Saber just snickers at that, and vanishes into thin air.

Shirou looks down, and finds his cup of tea bone dry.

Dammit, Saber.

"Oi, punk! Give me a hand here, this dresser isn't properly balanced!"

"Carry it yourself! Good night, Archer!" With a frustrated sigh, he slams the door behind him, and heads off to bed.

* * *

 _On distant red sands, there is only war._

 _Alone amidst red sands, Emiya Shirou sees only death. Ruined war machines, charred black by fire and plasma. Ancient wargear, boltguns, swords, plasma cannons, shattered and scattered into tiny, worthless fragments. The corpses of a thousand thousand guardians litter the ground, some the calloused flesh of mortals, others the sculpted physique of Angels, others still the tainted remnants of traitors and heretics._

 _All of them, consumed by the sands. Traitor or heretic, machine or man, it does not discriminate. It only consumes._

 _In the distance, a citadel stands broken and shattered. It stands literally by a single thread, bits and pieces of rockcrete flaking off by the force of gravity. Huge holes have been torn into its once majestic superstructure by weapons of unimaginable scale and power, charred in some places, melted in others, and simply absent of anything in others still._

 _The battle rages still, between guardians of light and the forces of darkness. But the light is but tiny pinpricks, mere single digits fighting against shadow. And the shadow is infinite, unrelenting, and utterly unbreakable._

 _In the depths below the great citadel, the mighty Fortress of blood and gold, the forces of darkness force themselves through to the treasures within._

 _Nine Angels lay dead, their arms crushed and their exsanguinators destroyed. The gate they once guarded now flies open at the behest of a black giant, wielding a blade black as night and pulsing red. Within rests a sarcophagus forged wholly of gold, murals of great victories and a hundred and fifty thousand angels carved perfectly all around._

 _It is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, and not something that should ever grace mere mortal eyes._

 _The lid flies open with a swing of that black blade, revealing the flawless countenance of the man within. His features are flawless, his physique perfectly sculpted. There is no mistaking who he is._

 _Sanguinius. The Ninth Primarch. The Primogenitor of the Blood Angels. Their Father._

 _And within his hands is a crimson case, gilded in gold and emblazoned with a winged drop of blood. Something, surely, of such incomparable value that it had to be kept within the very safest place in all the Blood Angels' lands: the Primarch's hands._

 _The black giant, this 'Sword of Hatred', swings again at the corpse. The case shatters, and is utterly consumed by black flames born of pure hate._

 _That is all it destroys, for a second great angel stands within the tomb. One that can never match the luminary perfection of the Great Angel, even on his deathbed, but a great angel indeed._

 _He charges at the black titan, wings flared and his own blazing sword drawn, too bright for him to read._

 _Their eyes meet, and Emiya Shirou's dream ends._

* * *

He wakes up with a start, breathing heavily. That dream... those were not his memories. The nightmares of the Fire never depicted some great war.

Memories flash from when he read Saber's sword. His memories, then, traced from their bond as Master and Servant?

He carries on his daily ritual, doing pushups in the dojo and then taking a shower. It feels strange. These actions are familiar, standard routine, and yet they feel wrong. Is it because of what happened last night? Does the fact that something happened last night mean everything should have changed? Is he overthinking things?

Caught up in his own thoughts, it is the smell of rice as he enters the living room that draw his attention. Someone's cooking.

He woke up half an hour early on account of a bad dream. Every time Kiritsugu cooks, the kitchen catches fire. The same goes for Taiga. Sakura shouldn't be here this Sunday.

Then it must be…

"Tohsa-"

He steps in, and finds Archer wearing an apron in front of the stove, looking back at him sourly.

"-ka…? Wait, Archer?" He blinks. "You cook?"

"I'm making breakfast." He raises an eyebrow. "Is there a problem?"

"No, I just thought…"

"Muh…."

Glancing over by the table, he finds Rin Tohsaka sprawled over it like some sort of amorphous blob. Her eyes are beady, her expression is tortured, and a small bit of drool drips out of the corner of her mouth.

Does this mean…? "Archer, is she…"

"Yep." Saber manifests, standing over Rin from behind. "She's on drugs."

"What?!"

"She's not a morning person. Though," he adds with a cheeky grin, "There are ways of waking her up. For instance-"

Saber smacks her at a point right at the base of her neck with the butt of a knife, and she snaps up ramrod stiff and fully awake.

"I… Uh." She blinks, and looks at Saber and his Master. "What just happened?"

"-that is one way." He looks at Saber, who looks back with a thumbs up. "Thank you, Saber. But how?"

"Ancient Blood Angels secret," Saber responds.

"Teach me, Saber."

"Unfortunately, only one of the Angel's blood can master the technique."

Shirou looks at his Servant with arms crossed and a bemused look on his face, and the reactionary chortle he received was proof that his answer is a load of bollocks.

Before things escalate, however, Emiya Kiritsugu yawns and walks in with a mug of steaming coffee in hand. He looks at Rin and Shirou, and smiles lazily. "Morning, Tohsaka-san, Shirou. Ah, Archer, that smells wonderful."

"Ah, you're welcome." Archer looks away from him, though Shirou can see the barest hint of a smile on his face. "Come, come, breakfast is served. I'll be right there with the dishes and-"

The doorbell rings. Someone, this early in the morning?

He moves to open the door, and finds a pretty blonde girl with her hair styled into drills standing at her door.

And right behind her is Lancer, the horrible brass titan that tried to kill him last night.

Then again, his apparent older sister tried to kill him last night. Maybe it is just their way of saying hello. Pulsing a mental command for Saber to approach, he smiles awkwardly. "M-May I help you?"

As abruptly as it is surprising, the girl bows. The full ninety degrees, even.

Even more surprisingly, Lancer follows suit behind her, though reluctantly.

"My name is Luviagelita Edelfelt," she says, still bowed. "My deepest apologies, Master of Saber, for my Servant's conduct. I assure you, he has been punished. If you would want any other method of recompense, please tell me."

"Uh…" He blinks. And blinks again. And then a third time. "Why don't you… come inside? We're just having breakfast…?"

She snaps back upright, beaming brightly. "It would be my _pleasure,_ Master of Saber?"

"Please… just 'Shirou' will be fine."

"Master Shirou, then!"

He sighs. For once, she actually seems genuine about it. And that just makes it all the worse. The neighbours are going to get the wrong impression. Again. "Just... come in already."

This has been a very eventful weekend.

* * *

In some ways, Saber is sad that his old life is gone. Gone are the days he stood amongst his brothers, laughing at jokes in between bolter drills, and sharing chainsword techniques while fighting in the battle cages. The intensity of one's first conflict as a Battle-Brother, fighting tooth and nail to defend a village from a force of orks that outnumbered you fifty to one while the Veterans deployed in a blitz to annihilate the warboss. He misses those days of grand war, where there would be hundreds on his side and thousands on their side. Now, it is simply him, his mortal Master, and a golden cup that grants magic wishes.

In other ways, however, he is happy to be a Servant. Mostly because of the moments that can occur.

Moments such as now, while the one called Luviagelita Edelfelt sits opposite Rin Tohsaka, glaring daggers at one another. Archer stands beside his Master, wearing an expression that sits between bemused and expectantly exhausted. Lancer - Moloc - stands beside his own Master, his head oriented at Archer, but he is certain his eyes are trying to bore into his skull.

Fat chance of that. He wears a helmet for many reasons.

His Master, Shirou, sits behind him and a bit to the left, his legs folded under him and laughing nervously. His previous Master, Kiritsugu, does not give a tenth of a damn, and continues drinking his coffee. The sheer unflappability of the former Magus Killer is something to behold, and indeed it is even more developed than the last time their paths had crossed. It is amazing. Perhaps he traded physical ability for a negative amount of fucks.

The atmosphere is painfully still right now, so thick that he could - and probably would - cut it. But the slightest misstep would trigger a fight, possibly a three-way battle, one fought between Lancer and Archer while his Master tried to have him mediate the battle. It would be fun, this battle of wits and arms, but then it would destroy their home, and he can't fix up a home of this size in several hours. Certainly, his Master feels the same way about losing his house. The amusement of several minutes would be paid for by several hours of vulnerability, hours that would allow Logan to track them down and feed him his own entrails.

It is funny, in a way. Logan Grimnar, as a Berserker, in the depths of his own madness born of fury and the blood curse of the Wolves, is exactly as he was in life. A relentless berserker, a frothing madman with an axe, who could simultaneously lead a massive war effort or defensive action and destroy a physically superior opponent with thought and talent. Though, few are the foes that are physically superior to the Old Wolf.

Rin clears her throat abruptly and loudly, and Saber refocuses himself back onto the matter at hand. He was paying attention the whole time, obviously, but now things were going to get _amusing._ The Grail War was a place where heroes of old kill each other in a murderous superpowered battle royale… but compared to his life, the Holy Grail Wars are _excellent_ fun.

"Emiya-kun," she says in a sing-song manner, turning to his Master with a bright smile. It is not cheery, it is not happy, it is not sincere except in her intention to gut him like a fish with a chainsaw. But it is a smile.

"T-Tohsaka?" His Master is, however, degenerating into a stuttering wreck. This is unfortunate. It is pretty clear she likes him, and is simply expressing her attraction in a passive-aggressive fashion. He can _taste_ the pheromones. It is fortunate that this spiritual facsimile of a body has retained at least _some_ of his gene-seed organs.

"Oho, Tohsaka?" The blonde Master grins at her, pinching her chin with her pinky finger extended, a cup of tea before her.

Shirou swallows. "L-Luvia?"

"Emiya-kun!"

"T-Tohsaka!"

Archer sighs. "Rin…"

"Archer?"

Kiritsugu sighs, in a very similar fashion. "Shirou…"

"D-Dad?"

"Saber."

He smirks. His turn, then? "Kiritsugu."

"Saber."

"Kiritsugu."

" _Saber."_

"Maste-"

" **ENOUGH!"** Lancer manifests his spear, and slams it hard enough into the wooden floor that it shatters, punches through, and shatters the concrete foundations beneath the house. "This. Is a _farce._ I will have _no_ part of this, Master!"

"Lighten up, Lancer," Saber states smugly. It will amuse him forever that he knows exactly who Asterion Moloc is, and yet he will never find out that the Saber in this War is, in fact, Aurelius Asterion. "We do not fight in the daytime, remember? There is no reason for enemies in this War to hate each other."

He scowls, and banishes his spear into the ether to once more await battle. "Apologies have been given. Until you are done clowning around with these hooligans and imbeciles, I will take my _leave._ "

He vanishes into thin air, though Saber still feels his presence. Exchanging a glance with Archer, the two red Servants share another visual conversation.

 _What an asshole, Saber._

 _He's always been like that, Archer._

 _What do we make of this situation?_

 _We let it play out, and step in before my poor Master's house erupts into flame. Even though that would be hilarious._

 _Heh. I was hoping we would let them sort it out themselves._

 _Sadly, the bindings of responsibility are tight indeed. Plus if they kill each other, you will vanish and we will never tease her again._

 _Hm. A difficult choice, Saber._

 _Verily, Archer, but needs must._

 _Needs must, Saber._

"So." Kiritsugu puts down his mug of coffee, now drained. "Edelfelt-san, how do you know Tohsaka-san?"

"Her family stole part of my family's magic crest," she replies, and then calmly takes a sip of tea. It sounds candid on the surface, but listen deeper and it is actually a declaration of war. Few are the times that he heard such _hatred_ from a young girl's voice. Do humans in this era have the Belcher's Glands too?

It would explain how she summoned Moloc, of all people.

Young Rin, however, is slightly less composed. "There has never been proof of that, and you know it," she replies, eyebrow twitching. "Besides, even if it was, couldn't you just _buy_ it back with your _mountains of money?"_

"Perhaps. If you needed money, you could always work for me as a maid."

She continues smiling serenely, but in Rin's hand her cup shatters like glass.

The most astonishing part is that it is made of wood.

"Edelfelt," she says, still smiling, and tilts her head. "Would you like to settle this matter, right here and right now?"

"A-Ah…" Emiya Shirou steps forward, reaching a hand out to the Red Devil. "T-Tohsaka…"

"A Magic Duel? Master on Master, no Servants?" Luviagelita Edelfelt, Head of the Edelfelt Family, tosses her hair-drills over her shoulder and grins back wolfishly. "I _accept._ "

"L-Luvia-san…"

Saber sighs. Dammit, boy, you're a Master too. Assert your authority.

Kiritsugu, receiving a new cup of coffee from Archer, takes a peaceful sip of delicious black gold amidst the turbulent tides of oncoming war. It's like he doesn't even notice the two girls about to go at it, much to Shirou and Archer's disconcertion.

And then when Luvia and Rin stand up suddenly, he pulls out another pistol from under the floorboards and shoots three times into the air.

"Not in my house," he warns in a dangerous, cold voice. "And not now. We have breakfast on the table."

All eyes fall on the former Magus Killer, and Saber snorts. Impressive. He can still assert authority, even weakened as he is.

"...Fine," Rin sighs, and sits back down. "We'll settle this as Masters, at night."

"Very well," Luvia shrugs, and then sniggers. "My Lancer's better than your Archer, though."

"What are you-"

Another shot rings out.

Breakfast carries on in peace afterward.


	5. Chapter 4

_**A/N:** I know I've never actually done anything like this (oh my god Swordo is interacting with his reader base what madness is this) so bear with me. Those of you who have gone onto SV probably know that I've been running a quest called Glory or Death, following a Space Marine Chapter as they deal with the various troubles of the 42nd Millennium. If you have, then you'll have realised by now that the current Chapter Master, Aurelius, has been summoned as Saber here._ _  
_

 _The reason for that is because Fate/Red Chalice began as a joke, then as an omake for that quest, and then became a story idea that refused to leave my head until I wrote it down. And apparently people found that funny, so I kept on writing. Ultimately, Red Chalice is something I write to amuse myself, and any additional feedback and interest is pure gravy._

 _That Red Chalice is getting any sort of attention is amazing to me. That it's gotten over a thousand views over... what, a week? That's astounding. To everyone who's reading this, thanks. Receive the gratitude of some guy from the internet who writes fanfiction for fun. High praise, I know._

 _I won't take the story hostage and demand reviews for the next update, nor will I ask you to favorite or follow it, because that's really up to you. But to everyone who's still reading this, I hope the rest of the story to come will live up to expectations._

* * *

 _ **Fate/Red Chalice**_

 _ **+Thought of the Day: "This day on, we are brothers, for theirs is an example worth following." - Logan Grimnar, Great Wolf of the VI Legiones Astartes+**_

* * *

Breakfast ended surprisingly civilly, despite the rocky start. Archer and Saber vanished when things settled down, though Shirou left food for them regardless. Food is for everyone in the household, even if they are the mighty magically-inclined heiresses to vast magical lineages and fortunes, old tired men past their prime, hopeless talentless hacks trying to figure out their magic, or great heroes of the past or future who find this entire 'Holy Grail War' business more amusement than death tournament. Right after, Kiritsugu engaged Luvia in conversation, while Rin dragged him into the kitchen to help with the dishes.

Obviously, she wants to do something else. Cleaning up is just an excuse.

But right now, the thing that confuses Shirou most is how _like_ each other that Rin and Luvia look. Maybe it's how they do up their hair.

"So, Tohsaka-"

"Ask me about Luvia or anything relating to her family and I get Archer to put my dresser back _through the kitchen._ " She scowls, dunking her hands under the gushing tap. "Anyways, Emiya-kun, I pulled you over for a reason."

It concerns his father. What else could it be about? To think that she would drop the matter after what happened last night… Well, she wouldn't be Tohsaka Rin if she did. "Concerning your wardrobe? I'm sure Archer brought proper clothes, and just put embarrassing ones into the dresser."

"How did you-" She flushes, and picks up a sponge and detergent. "I-Idiot, I'm talking about your father!"

"So, that thing from last night?" He goes about the motions, wiping damp plates with a dry rag and then putting them to dry. "Tohsaka, what else is there to talk about? He is Ilya's father, and he fought in the previous war. Everything else doesn't matter, because he's still going to be my dad."

Rin, in typical Rin fashion, prod him on the forehead.

"Why?!"

"Because you, Emiya Shirou, are an _idiot._ Think for a second." She pulls on his ear with soapy fingers, just to emphasize the point. "Ilyasviel von Einzbern is, as you might guess - though at this point I _wonder_ \- is of the Einzbern family, one of the _three founders of the Holy Grail._ They're also a _very_ powerful german aristocratic lineage, so _they don't accept new members easily._ He did something to get noticed, and he did something to be considered their representative for the 4th War." She frowns, and pulls her hand back. "And I have suspicions."

Shirou furrows his brow, doing his utmost best to not think about the soapy feeling at his earlobe. His father has attachments with the underworld. He seems to have guns everywhere, including _very_ rare armaments. They are reasonably well off, even though Kiritsugu barely does anything and Shirou works part-time at a bar. Somehow or another, he fathered a daughter of the Einzbern lineage, was a 4th War Master - of his Servant, at that - and several years ago tried teaching him about bounded fields until he gave up out of frustration.

Despite all observations to the contrary, despite the impression he has cultivated as to show that, what with being selfless, helpful, and utterly polite in spite of his personal thoughts - which, you know, he keeps to himself because they're _personal_ \- Emiya Shirou is _not_ a dense sack of doorknobs.

Well, at least not entirely. He thinks. That wouldn't be good. But if he were that dense, would he be able to tell?

"You think my father was someone of note in the Magus world?" The very thought of it, on some deep level, excited him. To know that the man who saved him, the man who raises him now, was some sort of entity to the world… It excites him like he is still that boy in that hospital ward. What was he known as, though? A Hero? A villain? Somewhere in between?

"I think he _is_ someone of note in the Magus world," she replies tritely, in a tone more contained and serious than usual. "And I cannot think of a single Magus that has ever been so proficient with a gun. The way he used that pistol earlier… it is far too confident for a casual user."

"Dad took me to the range once, when I was young." Shirou turns to the left, head tilted, and thinks back to older, more nostalgic memories. "I remember it being loud, but looking at dad… he was mechanical. That was the best way I could put him when I pestered him to show me how to shoot. Mechanical, machine-like in precision. I can't imagine how a social worker spellcaster would be so proficient with a gun."

"You still think he's a social worker?"

"No, Tohsaka, I don't. I'm not stupid." He turns back to her, eyes resolute in the way that makes her heart skip - but he doesn't know that. "But the past is in the past. Whoever dad was, or whatever he did, it doesn't matter now. That is not who he is now. That is not the man who saved me ten years ago from the Fire, and who never wakes up before noon now." He glances over his shoulder. "Usually."

She looks at him, eyes wide. "The Fire? You're… you're the sole survivor, then?"

"Yeah. Kiritsugu saved me, adopted me when I lost everything." He turns back to the dishes at his station, drying and wiping them clean dutifully, like the son he is. "I owe him everything. My life, my home, my ideal. And someday, I'll be a Hero of Justice, just like him."

She pouts at that, hands on her hips. "What, you're going to travel the world, righting wrongs?"

"Maybe," he snorts. Wouldn't that be an idea? Being a Superhero, righting the world's wrongs with magic and justice? "But first, I'm getting a law degree."

* * *

Luvia leaves soon after, in good spirits and with a disgruntled Servant. Rin and Archer depart after lunch as well, to gather additional reagents Archer missed the previous night and to return her dresser. Kiritsugu departs, stating that 'the old tiger owes me money, and I'm going to collect'. With little else to do but wait for them to come back and then formulate a strategy, Shirou takes to his chores.

He finishes within a few hours. Apparently there… just isn't much to do. Which is disappointing; he has several hours to go before Rin or Kiritsugu come back. He _could_ study - his grades are fine, but if he wants to get into a good law school he has to work harder - but with the matter of the Holy Grail War in mind…

They aren't going out tonight. Not after what happened with Berserker last night. Ilya might be hunting, and they are _not_ ready. He needs a plan. He needs an idea.

He needs to be less useless as a Master. Saber - Chapter Master Aurelius Asterion - should not be having parameters at C-Rank. The feats he read from Invictus implied that a Space Marine are capable of and typically do throw cars at their foes, before following up with shots from a gun as large as a man's torso. And from those memories he's read, the foes they fight are often durable enough to survive even _those._

The grimdark future of the 42nd Millennium is a very, _very_ terrifying place, where mankind must contend with infinite hordes of massive muscle-bound green psychopaths, capricious racist elven manipulators who are thousands of years old, a ravenous swarm of extragalactic bug-monsters, faceless robotic horrors with guns that shoot green lightning, bondage-clad psychopathic space elves with absurdly powerful weaponry that live in a dimension that borders _Hell,_ the tainted mirrors of the Space Marines corrupted by _Hell,_ and then the _actual Legions of Hell._ Not to mention the various lesser conflicts that may demand the deployment of Space Marines against technocultists, the gothic future Church, psychotic zealot nuns in service to the Church, and even other Space Marines.

Saber is a Space Marine. A Chapter Master, a Space Marine that stands above other Space Marines. He should be a Hero on the level of legends like Hercules, or Cu Chulainn, or King Arthur. Even without the backing from belief, his capabilities should be _insane._

"I would not agree, young Shirou," Saber booms in deep baritone, his legs folded under him and arms resting on his lap in a meditative gesture. Before he knows it, he's in the dojo, and is brought out of his revelry by his own Servant, a legendary hero of the future. Has he been vocalising his thoughts? And why didn't he immediately notice his crimson armor-clad giant of a Servant?

Further observation noted that no, his Servant was not currently a crimson armor-clad giant. His body is bare, bereft of his usual armor, and instead bears only a simple robe, folded down to his waist. His body is scarred, heavily so, and pale strips of skin mar is otherwise-flawless complexion. Small metal indents extrude through his skin - interface ports for his Power Armor, the memories of Invictus inform - all over his body, be they on his arms, his chest, or even the back of his spine.

And yet, he still wears his helmet.

It appears that for all his regal posturing and discipline, Saber will be Saber.

"Saber, why are you shirtless?"

"I was clearing my mind, and the Blood Angels often bore robes of their Chapter's color and heraldry during times of meditation. The custom of the 2nd Company that I belonged to and later lead was to strip down to the waist, to better clear the mind." The inflections in his voice and the faint nostalgic sigh on his breath told Shirou that, for once, he is not joking. His Servant sounds sincere, almost melancholic.

Shirou crosses his arms. Something troubles his Servant, but what? "And the helmet?"

"I would prefer not to reveal my appearance, if at all possible," he says cooly. "Call it personal preference, though apparently this is uncommon amongst the Adeptus Astartes. But then the idiots who would rather go without a helmet typically die early on," he says with a sigh. "Waste of gene-seed, the lot of them."

"Right." He looks, blankly, about the dojo. It is clean, a bundle of shinai in the corner on the racks. Did Saber clean up before he began meditating?

Seconds pass in silence as Shirou wonders how to break the ice. Saber simply continues sitting there, legs folded and eyes presumably closed. He doesn't know what to say, or how to say it. The crushing _presence_ his Servant exudes, even kneeling down, even mostly bare. Or is it because he is perfectly still, completely fine with exposing his upper half? Is this the power of Charisma Rank-B?

But this opportunity is staring him in the eye. He needs to seize it. Even though it feels like he could die from the anticipation, he _will_ die if he does not do this.

He has to. He must.

"Saber." His Servant looks up, straight at him. He feels those lenses boring straight into his eyes, into his soul. His Servant does not judge him, for he is his Master, and more to the point Saber is far too jovial a soul to judge another maliciously.

No, that is a lie; those memories he gleaned from the Crimson Blade of Duty told the tale of a different man, a stronger man, an angrier man. A master of the blade, a slayer of millions in the span of his lifetime. A titan of the galaxy, over eight hundred years old. Leader of the Blood Angels, the firstborn sons of the IX Legion. A warrior, a soldier, possessed of great hatred against the forces of Chaos, who slew some of the most terrifying beasts to ever manifest themselves in reality. A man who would let nothing stop him, be they arms or brotherhood or something so base as mere _emotion_ stand between him and his duty. Saber would judge him, if he must. And perhaps, that terrifies him on some level.

"Hm?"

"Saber. Teach me how to fight."

He stands, rising up to his full height. Even out of armor, Saber towers over Shirou by over a head. He looks taller than even Archer, who is a veritable giant amongst the diminutive Japanese ethnicity. His robe billows in the wind, one unseen and unfelt by the younger Emiya. He buries Shirou under his gaze, and in seconds Shirou feels an incredibly strong compulsion to bend, to shirk from his unrelenting watch. He is being buried, and struggles to something, _anything,_ to get out, lest he be buried and die six feet under.

Five seconds past, a veritable eternity for the proverbial ant under the microscope.

Shirou feels like an ant beneath the former Archangel's gaze, and the fire behind his eyes is like the sun that will surely set him ablaze.

Nine seconds past, and then Saber laughs.

"Of course, Master. We can start immediately."

He lets out a breath that he did not know he held, and feels like the weight of the world has been cast off his shoulders. He feels eager, energised, ready to take on the world and _win._ Going over to the racks, he takes one shinai. He reconsiders, and takes another. Somehow, it seems… right.

He turns, and finds Saber wielding a shinai in his hands already, taking up a stance. He is taking him seriously, even though even the lowest tiered Servant could make a mockery of a human, and Shirou is a spellcaster that is not even particularly noteworthy. Saber tilts his head, beckoning Shirou to take his place before him.

He does so, and moves into position with his two swords.

"Thank you, Saber."

The Servant of the Sword snorts. "Thank _you_ , Master. I will do what I can."

The world swells.

The pin drops, and Saber charges.

* * *

Lancer sniffs at the air, cradling Luviagelita Edelfelt in his arms as they sail across the skies - Luvia deciding against putting a hypnotic suggestion to look away from the brass giant carrying a pretty foreign blonde girl through the skies because that is absurd enough as _is_ \- and snorts. "I smell fear and regret from that household."

"What, yours?" She smiles when his armor servos groan, struggling to keep his arms from visibly trembling. "So, Lancer, what have we learned today?"

"Nothing. We have learned nothing but the fact that this Holy Grail War is making sloths out of men and beasts out of adolescent girls. Which would be amusing," he adds, "But for the _interruption_ by that blasted old cripple."

"Lancer! He is _not_ a cripple!" Indeed, he still had all his faculties, for all his illness and way he handled that gun, he is clearly someone trained in combat and likely took on dangerous jobs in times past, though the fact that he's using a pistol at all probably means he isn't of the Association, in the past or at present. A freelancer, then? But which one? This probably bears researching…

Maybe August would know the name 'Kiritsugu Emiya'. Or was it 'Emiya Kiritsugu'? Gah, naming conventions in this country will never _not_ astound her. Last names are _last_ names, they go _last._ "Names in this country are _strange,_ Lancer."

"No doubt," he snorts. "Perhaps it is because they are on the other side of the world, where everything is upside-down."

"If that were true they'd read from right to left."

"To my knowledge, my little Master, theydo."

"... _Inconceivable._ "

* * *

"My apologies, Master. As it turns out, I am simply _too_ good with a sword. As a means of limiting myself, I'll deign to use a different weapon."

"No, that's okay Saber-why are you ripping up the floor?"

"Prepare yourself, Master!"

"PUT BACK THE FLOOR TILES FIRST!"

* * *

"You never told me you had another kid, Kiritsugu."

The former Magus Killer snorts, and pushes the old man's hand away gently when he offers a cigarette. Raiga Fujimura, the Thunder of Fuyuki, is not a man to take lightly. Even in spite of his advanced age, he is a powerful and resourceful force within the criminal underworld, one that emphasizes control over exploitation. There is no point being _hated,_ after all. There was already the law to deal with. No point dealing with angry vigilantes.

Raiga, more than most, is aware of this fact, as one aware of the magical world.

He was once nearly killed by the man with the blank eyes sitting cordially next to him, after all. A long, long time ago, before the events of ten years ago.

Before he met Iri, actually. In a way, he went back a very long way with the old fart, long before he even knew that a man like Raiga Fujimura would be related to a girl like Taiga Fujimura.

"Are all the preparations set?" He had made secondary preparations when it came to his attention that the 5th Grail War was to occur much, _much_ earlier. He only had days to prepare, but Emiya Kiritsugu lasted all those years before finding Maiya by being a highly resourceful man. And he has resources everywhere, most of them now under the auspicious guardianship of the Fujimura Family. Resources he is reappropriating, for better or for worse.

Raiga nods, another cigarette between his teeth. A lackey emerges from the darkness behind him, seemingly appearing from nowhere, and lights it for him. "You can have your safehouses back, Kiritsugu, and we'll keep you supplied with munitions if you need them. You _can_ still shoot, right?"

Not very well. His hands tremble now. "Yes."

"Good." He takes a long pull, and exhales a thick grey cloud of smoke at the roof of the dark warehouse. "You're involved again?"

"Not directly."

"Bullshit. Having both your damn kids involved on opposing sides of a battle to the death is about as direct as you can get, Kiritsugu." He takes another pull, but keeps the cigarette in his mouth. "Stay out of it. You barely survived the previous one, and you were _healthy._ "

Kiritsugu closes his eyes, hands clasped together between his legs. "...I abandoned Ilya. I abandoned her when I chose to destroy the Grail. If I stay out of it, Ilya will gun for Shirou, and he won't survive against Berserker, even with Saber and Archer. He knows it, Saber knows it, I know it. I have to be involved, to present a target, or more people will die."

"Mn." Raiga puffs a cloud of smoke, and tosses a keychain at the former Magus Killer. "You'll need your backup plans, escape routes and safehouses, then."

Kiritsugu catches it handily, hiding it in the folds of his overcoat pocket. "How much do I owe you, at this point?"

"Eh, put it on Shirou's tab. He's earned more than you have at this point."

"...Thank you, Raiga-san."

"Thank me by living," the old man snorts. "I've outlived far too many of the young as-is."

* * *

Walking through the streets of Miyama City with a bag of additional groceries in hand, Tohsaka Rin ignores the strange looks people are shooting her way - or rather, right beside her, at the statuesque white-haired giant amongst men she calls a Servant, even though he really isn't a servant. Sure, he's carrying most of the groceries right now - because she checked the fridge and it is _empty,_ and she can claim the money from Emiya later anyways - but the _one_ time he treated her like a Master was… Berserker.

But right now, that's irrelevant. Archer could put an arrow headband on her head right now and she wouldn't blink an eye. She has greater matters to consider. The horrible blonde witch that calls herself Luviagelita Edelfelt who is _also_ the Master of Lancer, the other Servants they haven't encountered yet, the Master of Berserker and her apparent relation to Emiya's father, and the man himself.

Emiya Kiritsugu. A name so powerful, so strong, so _terrifying,_ that the Mage Association has done all it could to bury the records. Her father's records confirm it. He is the Magus Killer. There is _literally_ no doubt about it, and chances are Emiya has already figured out - no, more likely he's always known on some level, and simply trusted his adoptive father blindly. Which is something he _would_ do.

And the worst part is how she's not sure that's a _bad_ thing. Emiya Kiritsugu is the Magus Killer, but he also has not been active in the last eighteen years save for the 4th War. From what she can read, the man had no Magic Circuits left. That, or he was broken enough to not use any of the Emiya's Time Alter magecraft to help escape from Ilyasviel, and chummy enough with that damn priest to not prepare for a counterattack when he shot him.

Considering he tried to shoot him, that seems highly unlikely.

Looking back, there were multiple times when he could have killed someone and didn't, despite being the ruthless, utterly pragmatic Magus Killer. Luvia, despite being a terrible finnish devil-woman, is the Head of the Edelfelt Family, and her presence as a Master is eminently dangerous to Shirou regardless of the debts she owes him or her bearing as a person. When she and Luvia were ready to duke it out - and of course her first action would be to kick her out the window because she isn't _irresponsible_ and _cares_ about property damage - neither of them would be prepared for a bullet through the side of the head, and Saber, who _has_ worked with Kiritsugu before and is a Space Marine on top of that - will likely move to intercept Lancer if he had decided to do so.

So why didn't he?

She paws at her head with her free hand, groaning. She hates it. All the smoke and mirrors, all the cloak and daggering, all the investigative work… all to conclude that Emiya Kiritsugu, the Magus Killer… is harmless. He is still capable of doing _something,_ certainly, but he is no longer going to be the powerhouse he was in his youth. And he will not move to terminate _her,_ either.

And yet she has a bad feeling about this. She likes Emiya enough, dumb idiot he is, but Kiritsugu… His eyes are completely dead. Blank, devoid of hope. A man like that will either stop at nothing to atone _,_ or give up to the World and drop dead at any moment. Both scenarios are awful. Atoning to Ilyasviel will lead to his death, and his death in any fashion will affect Shirou. It most certainly will.

"Ugh… Dammit. Archer, what do you make of this?"

She turns to look at her Servant, and finds him looking in the direction of the Emiya residence. He's blanked out, barely listening to her, barely paying attention to the world around them. For a Servant that still means being able to react to danger before it strikes but _still._ How _rude._

"Oi, Archer! Are you even listening?"

He replies in a distant tone, as if he is not fully there. "I think I hear something… something like a punk getting utterly demolished."

* * *

"Saber, p-put down the shinai! I'm sorry I asked about a finishing move that can beat Servants, j-just-SABER!"

"That you would think there exists a singular strategy that is applicable to every situation is just… Master, listen hard and listen well, for I am about to pound in ten thousand years of military history into your thick stupid skull."

"Put down the pipe, Saber, you could kill someone with tha-WOAH!"

"Stop dodging, Young Master! Pain is merely weakness leaving the body! And to survive, you must be STRONG!"

* * *

"...No, must've been my imagination." He looks back at her, brow furrowed. "What do I make of what, Rin?"

"Emiya-san, naturally. What's your expert opinion, oh amnesiac Hero?"

He sucks on his lips, and thinks ponderously upon the subject of the former Magus Killer.

Finally, he speaks.

"He has too many guns for an old man."

Rin sighs, and dumps her bag on groceries on Archer.

She'll have to settle this at dinner, then.

* * *

The sun crests the horizon, and Fuyuki City is abuzz. The afternoon's hustle and bustle of housewives attending groceries and children playing in the parks makes way for the nightlife, where the elder generation takes a turn to enjoy their weekend for however many hours remain before the work week starts all over again. Sunday is a day of rest, in which work is halted and education takes a break.

But on the edge of Fuyuki, Castle Einzbern continues to sleep, the snoring giant of stone and mortar unmoving as it has for a decade. Untouched and unknown, rumored to be haunted, and resting on one of four points in the city where its plentiful ley lines intersect. Points where the Holy Grail may well manifest.

Where she will be filled with seven big lumps and turn into a cup.

Just like mother.

"Tonight as well, mistress?" The more mature of the two homunculi maids looks sharply at her, while Berserker materialises and picks her up gently. "I don't recommend it." Ilya ignores Sella's look, knowing she's just worried. Last night's battle was closer than she would have liked. But at the same time, Saber and Archer were exhausted as well.

She isn't dumb, despite all her appearances to the alternative. She only _acts_ naive and innocent most of the time. Looking back, it is obvious that Saber and Archer were fighting to escape, not to end the fight decisively. Any longer, and they would have died. Their Masters would have died. Kiritsugu would have been hers. She knows it, and they know it.

She was the clear victor of that round.

"Don't worry, Sella," she replies, sitting daintily on Berserker's shoulder pauldron like she normally does now. He wears his helmet, but metal tendrils are creeping around his neck wound. The steel has not spread yet, and his shoulder is normal. An application of his other Noble Phantasm, then? "Berserker is strong, and so am I. I'll come back soon."

"Ilya." Leysritt speaking up, however, catches her attention. Leys rarely spoke up, if at all. Her sense of self is thin, and she rarely asserts her will in anything. "Be careful."

She simply nods; she was planning on it, anyways. Tonight isn't to deal with Kiritsugu, it's to deal with everyone else so she can deal with Kiritsugu in _peace._ "Make sure no one comes through the forest."

"As you wish, mistress," Sella states dutifully. Leysritt moves, and pushes the doors open.

Berserker snorts, and leaps through to the open forest.

* * *

"We're back!"

"Ah, welcome back." Kiritsugu smiles kindly as Archer and Rin step through the door, Rin taking off her shoes and Archer taking the groceries he's carrying - well, more being slowly consumed by - to the kitchen and fridge. This, Shirou barely notices while wrapping bandages around the many, _many_ bruises that cover his arms, chest and legs.

Saber hits _really_ hard, even with a paper fan. It's ridiculous. The fan disintegrated in one blow.

"Welcome back," Shirou groans, Saber standing over behind him, once more clad in armor, with his arms crossed. Tohsaka Rin looks at him with a befuddled frown, and he sighs. Please don't press the issue. It's embarrassing enough. "Please don't ask."

"...Well, that explains Archer's strange behaviour earlier," Rin sighs, shaking her head in a way that seems all too familiar to Shirou now. It is like she's dealing with Saber as well… well, Saber and Archer get along fairly well. It makes sense Archer also gets on Rin's nerves.

Saber matches gazes with Archer once more, and Shirou sighs. This _keeps happening._

 _Was the kid stupid, Saber?  
_

 _Very stupid, Archer. I had to beat it out of him._

 _I've known about these conversations,_ Shirou injects with a glare, directed at both Servants. And in response, both simply shrug.

 _We know, kid._

 _It is highly amusing._

Shirou rolls his eyes, and finishes off his bandages. Come morning, they should be healed. Probably.

"That's a lot of groceries, Tohsaka-san. My thanks." Kiritsugu tilts his head. "But how much did you pay?"

"Emiya-kun will just reimburse me," she brushes off, and a cold chill runs up Shirou's spine. With this many groceries, it's just going to… Good thing that he can dip into the 'Taiga Fund'. Even though he hasn't had to do it since she found that thing called a moped. "Archer, the receipt?"

The small piece of paper flickers into existence between the red Servant's fingers in one instant, and he flicks it gently at the younger Emiya. He snatches it out of the air, and scans it briefly.

The cost makes it obvious.

Rin is trying to take advantage of him.

"I'll pay you back later, I guess," he sighs, and rises onto his feet. "I'll go cook dinner now. Tohsaka, mind setting the tables?"

* * *

The forest around Castle Einzbern range for kilometers around and possesses a defensive mechanism against any and all aggressors. A Bounded Field surrounds it in its entirety, allowing whoever controls it - right now Ilya - to notice whoever breaches and how to best deal with them. It is so big, it takes four hours to walk from the entrance to the castle itself, and then another four hours to get back. It is not a place for the non-magical to enter, not unless they have the explicit invitation of the Castle's master; and she's not taking any guests.

Midway through the woods, however, Ilya feels an intrusion into the Boundary Field; one that has completely circumvented the counter-magical backblast that should be sending people _flying_ on low settings and outright exploding on the highest settings - and it is definitely on the high setting, she knows _exactly_ how good her father is at breaking Bounded Fields, which makes it even _more_ absurd how he _didn't try to save her at all-_

No. No no. Nonononono. Not now. Not tonight. She'll take care of it _later._ She squeezes Berserker's pauldron, and the Old Wolf comprehends. He reorients mid-flight, adjusting his trajectory, and pulls the Axe of Morkai forth from thin air…

A scant moment later, he blurs, blocking a blow from overhead. He angles his parry just so, rotating in mid-air perfectly, and nicks the aggressor with a swing from Morkai. He hits the ground half a second later, his feet barely brushing against the loamy ground, and takes off towards the direction the attacker fell towards.

A heartbeat later he arrives, howling like the Wolf he is, and swings the axe down _hard_. The strike is parried, barely, by the blue figure - clearly a Servant at this point - wielding the golden sword. A Space Marine, clad in blue and gold. An Ultramarine, then?

No, the heraldry on his plate. It is an empty, stylised golden ring. The helmet, too, is far too baroque for an Ultramarine to ever accept.

Who _else_ could it be?

"Well well," an imperious voice cuts through the woods as surely as the Axe of Morkai would, instantly setting Ilya on edge. "The Master of the Einzbern isn't just adorable, but she has a powerful Servant too. Though," the mystery Master laughs, "Not as powerful as my _Saber._ "

This is rich. The enemy Master is trying to trick her into presuming the Servant before her is a Saber, not a Caster. She's already met Saber. More to the point, what kind of Thousand Son would be anything _but_ a Caster? The Rubricae are mindless automatons, not fit for the status of a Heroic Spirit, and whatever the other skills of the remainder, the legend of their Primarch and their own pursuits in the sorcerous arts have guaranteed that all of them, save for the most pressing of circumstances, would become Casters.

The one who would try to _fight_ Berserker, who is quite obviously a Space Wolf, if not clearly Logan Grimnar, to a close quarters fight, is likely a martially-inclined Sorcerer-Brother of his Fellowship, but nothing compared to Berserker. The Space Wolves are quite possibly _the_ best weapon to use against the Thousand Sons. Sadly Berserker was summoned without the Magic Resistance that he would _normally_ have as a result of the Class Container, and his legend lacked an element of ignoring witchcraft in favor of caving their faces in so much as circumventing their sorcery outright with wit and command smarts, but that would only be window dressing to the salad of murder he's about to be tossing.

One Servant down, as it were.

She chuckles, half-innocent and half-naive, though the truth is anything but. "Sorry Mister," she replies with a smug grin, "But your Servant obviously isn't Saber. I already fought Saber last night. He's obviously Caster."

"Wha-" The voice wavers. "He uses a sword, child. Of _course_ he's Saber!"

"Sabers have to be _good_ with swords though," she pouts childishly, all part of a facade to impose a cunning plan in which she hides the fact that she's _actually_ pouting on the inside while _also_ wondering how to deal with the Master. He's definitely nearby, the terms of the contract would demand that a Master be near their Servant to supply the optimum amount of prana. "If he were good, my Berserker wouldn't have hit him with his axe! Though," she adds, coy, "Berserker is better than any Thousand Son in melee."

"That matters not, little girl, for the sorceries of the Thousand Sons will make simple mincemeat of the Space Wolves! Magic is superior to brawn in all ways, as you shall soon learn!" The enemy Master likely has not done enough consideration, considering the Servant she's using. The Axe of Morkai should be enough of a clue to prove the identity of Berserker, and very few Sorcerers are capable of matching Berserker. His Battle Continuation will ensure that no wounds will slow him down… assuming they even _hit._

"I don't know about that, Berserker's pretty strong. But thanks for bringing him to me!" She beams cheerily, to no one in particular. "Berserker, kill him."

Berserker charges, howling, and tears into Caster with a brutal swing from the side. Caster moves to parry, golden sword humming, and recoils at the sheer _force_ of the blow that bends his cracked blade. Caster moves to counter, murmuring under his breath-

Berserker slams his other fist into Caster's face, shattering the helmet in a single blow, breaking off the ornamental headpiece, and pulping whatever flesh lies under the steel and ceramics. The golden sword falls to the ground on the flat of its blade first, and Caster follows. He crumples under his legs like a roll of paper, and falls flat on his back.

Ilya huffs, arms crossed. "That was boring. Let's go, Berserker."

Logan Grimnar does not budge, does not react to the tone of his little Master's voice. He remains standing there, resolute and forthright, even amidst the maddening haze that now rests around his mind and bars him from any drive or emotion or thought beyond 'fury' and 'duty'. Even his own survival is beyond the question, only the survival of his Master.

Why, then, would he remain behind?

Caster's body disintegrates into dust, not a single trace remaining of the Thousand Son's body. Every iota, every fragment, every piece of that armor vanishes as smoke in the evening wind. Even the golden sword, broken and nearly shattered but nonetheless remained under two harrowing blows of the Axe of Morkai, leave not a single trace. Nothing remains.

All is dust.

A bright light flashes to life suddenly above the tree line, bright enough to pierce through the canopy. Ilya tears through it in a matter of moments with a pair of blade-familiars, and the truth presents itself instantly.

Caster is above them, glowing bright enough to rival the setting sun. Glowing with enough prana to level half the forest by simply releasing it outright as pure, unrelenting, mindless force. A golden sword burns in his left hand, glowing and pulsing every half-second rhythmically. The exact same golden sword that the Caster on the ground used against them, but flawless and unmarred. Undamaged. Perfect. Pure power, condensed into the form of a sword.

She puts the pieces together instantly, and chides herself. It is obvious. She should have seen through it instantly. No Noble Phantasm would so much as crack under a single blow from a weapon like the Axe of Morkai, even wielded by a man such as Logan Grimnar. Only the weapons of familiars, of constructs, of Servants that do not wish to reveal their true weapon and have the means necessary to fabricate false weapons, would shatter like that. And most such weapons would simply disintegrate after a single strike.

That golden sword did not shatter.

That golden sword, like Caster, vanished into dust.

All is dust.

 _All is dust._

And the Rubricae, like Sorcery, are integral to the tragic legend of the XV Legiones Astartes.

" **Mediocre,"** Caster - the _real_ Caster - booms from above, his voice augmented by sorcery and a voxcaster.

There is no imperious pride in his tone, no arrogance born of high breeding and power. He is focused. He is calm. He burns with cold hatred that is born only by being betrayed by absolutely everything - their comrades, their lord, their father, their brothers, themselves… everything. Nothing remains of him. Nothing but hatred, and the drive to change things for the better, no matter the cost. No matter what happens to him.

Motes of gold spawn around him from thin air. Tens of them, hundreds of them, thousands of them, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions… So dense are the motes in the air, they rival all the lights in the sky and the distant skyline of Fuyuki combined. They sparkle, they shine, they glow with the intensity of stars; but it is the evening time, there should be no stars.

They are promises.

Promises that her Servant will not survive. Not after the _atrocity_ that was perpetuated at Prospero.

" **Begone from my sight, wolf lord."**

"Berserker, move!"

Even without her say-so, Logan Grimnar charges off deeper into the dense woods as Ilya ramps up the defensive measures of the Bounded Field as high as she can manage. If they can reach the castle in time, maybe, _maybe,_ they could shrug off a magical assault of that level. Sella and Leysritt, with their help she can definitely hold it off.

But she is too late, and her efforts are for naught.

Every mote of light magnifies their glow hundredfold in the fraction of a second, and innumerable lances of warp-lightning crash into the woods below.

* * *

On the horizon of the city, a new sun is born. The day seems just a bit too bright, the evening takes just a bit too long to pass. Few notice it, passing it off as a quirk in the changing from day to night. Perhaps it is some sort of astrological phenomenon that will be explained the next day, perhaps it is simply a trick their eyes are playing on them. The brightness of the setting sun dims after some time, supporting that theory. Supporting a theory that does not impact their peaceful lives.

In the Emiya residence, four out of five of the people within instantly notice something is amiss. Rin shares a look with her Servant, then with Saber, then with Emiya Kiritsugu. Emiya Shirou does not notice, having focused entirely on the meal ahead, but it is certain that he would notice otherwise. That the 'sun' is already setting, and what is currently providing light is actually an _immense amount of prana being burned like a firecracker._ It is practically a beacon, just attracting every Servant within the city to come like moths to a flame. This is either bait… or a Master is engaged in very, _very_ heavy battle against… most likely Caster.

Archer nods, and vanishes into mist. Saber remains, still dematerialised but in the living room as well. Someone has to watch the place, and though he is faster he lacks ultra-long range combat ability, something Archer has in ample quantity. Which is why he's _Archer_. They're practically made for this sort of operation.

Especially since, according to Kiritsugu while they waited for food, Castle Einzbern is to the southwest, exactly where the 'sun' is shining from.

"Tohsaka? Where did Archer go?"

"Just running an errand," she replies simply. "It could be Caster."

"Ah, I see." Emiya looks over his shoulder at Rin, more feeling than seeing Saber through their bond as Master and Servant. "Shouldn't Saber go with him?"

"No, idiot, we need someone to guard the place. Archer will be fine on his own, he's just scouting." She nods, secretly taking pride in her Servant. "I trust him to _not_ die tonight, at least."

* * *

The barrage lasts two seconds; there is no point in extending the fanfare when even a single bolt of warp lightning can scorch a mighty century-old oak tree to its roots in an instant. Every bolt of warp lightning strikes an area perfectly two meters by two meters, scouring apart a near-perfect grid in the forest beneath it. Where there once was six kilometers of treeline, there is only a massive square-shaped hole, pitted with massive potholes and chasms. The air smells of ash and dust and warp residue, an odour much like rancid incense.

A mound in the ground shifts three seconds later, and Berserker upturns what soil and dust remains violently and as quickly as he can. Logan Grimnar, Old Wolf of the Vlka Fenryka, doesn't so much climb out of the ground as he does kick the earth down beneath him, and sets his coughing Master down on the ground carefully, as one would a delicate porcelain doll. And, covered in dust and shimmering with sweat as she does not, Ilyasviel von Einzbern does look very much like a porcelain doll right now.

The frustration and anger that burns in her eyes, however, are very much not doll-like.

She does not speak. She does not even need to. That Berserker dug deep into the ground and used the earth - and himself - to shield her speaks of his instincts. If not for him, she would likely be dead. 'Likely', because Caster may well have realised she is the Grail Vessel by now. Casters. So annoying.

She glances at Berserker abruptly. He does not return it, instead charging at the treeline, towards the Caster in the sky. he takes one step, two steps, three steps, each footfall sending tremors through the earth, rattling her teeth and forcing a crater into the scorched ground.

On the fourth step, he takes to the skies, and flies straight at Caster with the Axe of Morkai. He moves so quickly, the air _booms_ around him as it rushes to avoid the charging titan of grey and steel. He is like a brick, for all the grace he displays while heading straight for the Thousand Son; but he is Berserker. He needs no grace or elegance. He is no Blood Angel. He does not fly, not like an Angel.

More like a cruise missile.

He slams into Caster after a fraction of a second in air-time, like a bear leaping at a deer. Swinging wildly with the Axe of Morkai, he strikes again and again at the Thousand Son Sorcerer. He strikes, again and again, hacking at the powerplant on his back and digging deep furrows on the lower back and legs. He winds up for a final blow, and then Caster separates himself from Berserker with a wave of force.

He falls towards the ground back-first, just long enough to see a long black jagged missile wreathed in red light plow into Caster's head at Mach 10, and then detonate.

He feels dust on his armor, and twists to land in a crouch.

The battle is done, even his mad mind comprehends that. But Caster is still alive. And that infuriates him on a deep level.

"Come, Berserker." Logan looks up, spots Ilya standing before him in a dusty purple dress. "We're done tonight."

He complies, picks her up, and begins the slow walk through the wasteland of a single night.

All in all, the battle lasted a minute or two.

* * *

Atop a skyscraper belonging to one of the many subsidiaries of the Fujimura Group, the red Archer that once called himself Emiya Shirou grunts under his breath, frowning. He used Hrunting on a familiar that Caster was merely possessing. That will be unfortunate, but there are few defenses that can guard against the Hound of the Red Plains. He possesses one of them, Rho Aias, and it is unlikely that Ajax looks like a Thousand Son.

He seems to possess powers that diverge from Medea's, but are yet strangely familiar. Medea was certainly a fan of unloading absurd amounts of prana at a target in the form of giant laser beams, though this Caster seems to prefer immensely powerful thunderbolts. This will be more difficult to defend against with Kanshou and Bakuya, but potentially simultaneously more simple; he just needs to ensure those blades are between him and those thunderbolts, instead of moving to intercept them like normal projectiles.

If nothing else, Ilya wouldn't be abducted by a Caster and used as a prana battery. That, and that alone, brings peace to his heart. Countless years of thankless service as a Counter Guardian, a butcher of millions in a single sitting, and even now he retains a soft spot for his 'sister'. Seeing her so _angry_ that night… that frankly shocked him. He put his emotions away and worked with machine-like efficiency afterward - using Caladbolg was probably excessive - but it still shocked him. Now… it is understandable.

Kiritsugu is alive, not dead. With the very reason for her torture right in front of her, of course she would take it.

He shouldn't get involved. He is not this world's Emiya Shirou. She is not his Ilyasviel von Einzbern, he is not his adoptive father Emiya Kiritsugu. They are different people, even if they are fundamentally the same. He is a Servant, here to win the Holy Grail for his precocious twin-tailed Master that he had a crush on for several years while still attending Homurahara Academy, and then possibly had a short fling with after his Holy Grail War before abandoning everything to pursue his ideal.

... And yet, somewhere inside his cold, bloodstained soul, there remains the core of the boy who simply wanted the people in front of him to not cry.

And right now, though there are no tears on her, Ilya is crying.

Against his better judgement, he feels like he should help. Even though she's an enemy Master with a very angry Space Wolf for a Berserker. And wants him and Rin dead as well.

...Bah. Perhaps, just this once, he'll try to facilitate a reconciliation. It is the first time the two have been alive at the same time when he's been summoned, after all. It'll be novel.

His job done, Archer vanishes into the night sky.

* * *

Last night, Emiya Shirou was unable to prepare dinner. True, all that happened because he stayed back to do Shinji's work for him even though Kiritsugu specifically told him _not_ to, he witnessed a battle between Servants, was subsequently nearly killed by one of those Servants, summoned a Servant of his own, found out that not only is he currently embroiled in some sort of strange contest called a Holy Grail War, not only was his father a participant in the _previous_ Holy Grail War, but the Servant he summoned, Saber, is apparently also the same one that his father summoned in the previous War as well.

Not to mention that after all that they went to visit a strange priest who now apparently worships Saber's Emperor, found a little girl that is apparently Kiritsugu's daughter and thus his sister - his _older_ sister, at that - who wants him to _suffer_ for abandoning her, and then nearly died _again,_ whereupon he discovered his Servant's identity. And _then_ Kiritsugu poured his heart and soul out to the both of them, Archer and Saber became best friends or something, and Tohsaka _moved in._

Of course, for the most part, one would consider that with all that's happened to him in _maybe_ three or four hours, not preparing dinner for his father for one night is fine. But Emiya Shirou is not most people. When he makes promises he makes sure to _keep_ them. And when he absolutely can't keep that promise, he tries to atone for it in the best way he can.

So tonight, he's making the most extravagant dinner he's done ever since he pissed off Fuji-nee by losing the tiger strap on the Tora-Shinai about four years ago, with all the culinary skill he's learned since. Crayfish, oysters, beef, grill, _everything_ will be put to the test. Tohsaka - and by extension him, since he'll have to pay for it - has spared no expense on the food, so he shall spare no expense on the preparation either.

And, judging by the expressions laid before him as he brought in the final dish - salmon seasoned with tarragon and then grilled and marinated to perfection, with small pieces of parsley garnishing the dish - he has done his job. It brings him no small amount of joy to see Kiritsugu light up at the meal before him, a stark contrast to the night before and even this morning. Tohsaka seems skeptical, though she's also at a loss of words at the presentation. Archer is judging with sharp eyes - what, did the mysterious red knight cook in life too? - and Saber… he can't read Saber.

"Impressive, Young Master. Your culinary capabilities are the equal of the finest cook-serfs of my Chapter - and those are the ones who have devoted their lives to producing the perfect dish." He nods, satisfied with himself, and already chewing. Despite wearing a helmet. Someday, he's going to slip up. "It would seem we have found your _true_ calling in life."

"The shrimp is salty, and the crisp could use some work," the other red Servant says, chewing. "But otherwise… not bad, for a kid."

"So where did you learn to cook?"

"Dad and Fuji-nee can't cook, so I had to learn from a young age." He shrugs, chewing on a bit of rice before continuing. "It was that or starve."

"You could always order takeaway from restaurants," Kiritsugu offers, an old routine that the two have shared for years. Actual _years._ And time and again, he has refused that offer.

Because it is either expensive or fast food. And fast food is disgusting.

His expression said as much.

Kiritsugu just laughs. "Someday, Shirou, someday you'll understand."

At that, Archer's expression turns blank and unreadable. Does _he_ understand that fast food is awful, too? Come to think of it, how would heroes from the past know about fast food? Unless… he's some sort of non-Astartes hero of the Imperium. That could work.

Rin grins. "So you would rather starve than eat fast food?"

He frowns. She's just poking for a reaction. "I would rather cook than eat fast food; starving is a different matter. And I'm apparently good at it, so..."

"I get it, I get it. It's good, you know?" She smiles, and to Shirou's quiet shock it is genuine. "Thanks for the meal."

"A-Ah…" He blushes deep, luminescent red. "Well, I…"

Her genuine smile then turns nasty, and Shirou discovers he's been had.

Apparently, Tohsaka Rin finds the combination of bright flustered red and disgruntled annoyance deeply amusing, as she starts laughing long, loud, and proudly.

Kiritsugu, being Kiritsugu, just smiles politely.

He scowls for his trouble, and focuses intently on his rice bowl. It is a pretty good rice bowl. The details on the outside are well made. "Eat your food before it gets cold already, Tohsaka."

Dinner passes by largely in peace. Archer simply notes that by the time he got there, the battle was over. Berserker appears to have scared off Caster, but nonetheless Caster should be dealt with soon. The spat of people falling sick, Rin reasons, is likely Caster, and Kiritsugu agrees. It sits poorly with Shirou, empowering yourself with the lives of others like that. It seems… wrong, on a much more personal level than simply 'they are eating souls to fuel their sorcery'. But besides that unsettling feeling, all goes well for the meal.

It is afterwards that everything goes poorly.

Saber and Archer revert to spiritual form, to reduce the drain on both Rin and himself, and leave to the outside to take watch. He takes care of keeping the dishes tonight, leaving Kiritsugu and Rin alone at the living room, watching the evening news.

If he were paying attention to how standoffish she'd been to Emiya Kiritsugu for the past two days, there is no doubt that he would be very, _very_ nervous right now.

But, as they say, ignorance is bliss.

At least, it is until it all comes crashing down.

And right now, the wrecking ball is inches away from his face.

"Emiya-san?"

"Yes, Tohsaka-san?"

"Did you kill my father?"

* * *

Atop the roof of the Emiya Residence, Archer matches gazes with Saber, and finds himself with a kindred spirit. And in the way only men can, they converse with naught but eye contact.

 _Your Master is troublesome, Archer, and not in a good way._

 _Let it happen, Saber. Better that they get this done with now._

 _Perhaps, Archer. But I doubt you'll enjoy what is to come._

* * *

"Tohsaka!"

He leaps across the counter, reaching the table before the plate he dropped hits the ground. it shatters right as the Gandr curse manifests on Rin's outstretched hand. Faster than thought, faster than instinct, he grabs her wrist and shoves it away from his father and towards the floor. She counters, slamming a palm into his face with the force and precision only a martial artist could have, but he does not let go.

"Let go of me, Emiya-kun! I _need_ to know!"

He cannot let go. He _will_ not let go.

What in the world is Tohsaka even doing-

"Shirou," Kiritsugu says impassionately, as calmly as if they were disagreeing over tea. He closes his eyes, head lowered far enough that his chin is touching his neck. "Let her go."

He looks at him, eyes wide in shock. Rin shakes him off roughly, rubbing at her wrist while he falls flat on his ass. What is he _doing?_ What is _she_ doing? What is even going on anymore? "Tohsaka, I thought we talked this through already! Whatever he did doesn't matter now! He's helping us and that's what-"

"Maybe that's good enough for you, but it isn't for me!" A black bolt of energy forms in her other hand, aimed straight at Kiritsugu. The old man remains content to sit, the TV still playing in the background. "Ten years ago, my father died. The fake priest said he was killed by the Magus Killer. And we _both_ know he's the Magus Killer!"

"Stop it, Tohsaka! We're supposed to be allies! How are we going to win this Grail War if we're fighting each other?" He glances over at Kiritsugu, mentally going over the blueprint of the room. There has to be something, _anything_ that he can use to hold Tohsaka off if worst comes to worst. A stick, a knife, a broom, _anything_ within arm's reach. "Dad, tell her! Tell her you didn't kill him!"

Kiritsugu says nothing.

"Well?! Say it, Emiya Kiritsugu!" The curse turns _blacker_ as tears start beading in the corners of her eyes. "Say it to my face! Look me in the eye and tell me you did not kill _Tokiomi Tohsaka!"_

He continues to say nothing. He does nothing. Shirou can't even tell if he's _breathing._

"Well, Emiya Kiritsugu?! Aren't you even going to _try?!_ "

"Dad! Please! Tell her! Tell her the truth! Tell her you didn't kill her father!"

He looks at Tohsaka Rin, and his eyes are blank. Emotionless. Absolutely devoid of hope.

Too late, Shirou realises the truth. The awful, awful truth.

His father isn't a flawless Hero of Justice, like he believed. He is a man, not a Hero.

"I'm sorry, Tohsaka-san."

And men can't save everyone.

Tears drip down from angry eyes. Her hands are shaking, as are her legs. She isn't scared, far from it. She's far too angry and sad for words. If looks could kill, Kiritsugu would've died five years ago. She's going to kill Kiritsugu, take vengeance against her father's murderer, and end the life of the man who saved him ten years ago and gave him everything.

And there is not a damn thing he can do. He can barely move.

All Shirou can think of is how _wrong_ he had been.

Archer manifests in front of her, before she can fire that one shot. Saber similarly appears, between them and Kiritsugu.

"Forget it, Rin. He can't do anything anymore."

"Instigate aggressions, Young Rin, and I will be forced to act."

He looks at Rin, and flinches at her glare. Not because he is frightened, though there is no doubt Tohsaka Rin could probably kill him. He just never thought a girl like her would ever pack so much hate into a simple look.

"T-Tohsa-"

She looks away, and the Gandr before her hand dissipates into nothingness.

"We're leaving, Archer. This alliance is over."

Those words pierce Shirou's heart harder than any spear or sword could, and he scrambles for someone, _anyone,_ to try and challenge her decision.

Saber does not react, and simply stands firm like the crimson sentinel he is. Archer does not react, abiding by his Master's decision like the dutiful Servant he should be. Kiritsugu does not react, and remains content to sit on the floor at his place limply, like a doll.

Like a broken doll.

Archer finally lets out a breath, more a sigh of acceptance than resignation. "As you wish, Master."

One last time, he tries to call out. But the words get caught in his throat.

By the time he manages to utter 'Tohsaka', she's already out the door.

Saber sighs when the door slides shut loudly, turning to Shirou's place by the wall. Kiritsugu is still, limp, like a sack of flesh. His eyes are unblinking and unfocused. He is not with them.

Emiya Shirou has gone many times, done many things, without Emiya Kiritsugu to rely on. Daily commodities, chores, even financial matters to some degree. But for the first time, Kiritsugu is not there as an emotional guidepost, with advice or even a stable shoulder to cry on.

He is lost, and quite honestly has no idea how to be found.

"Young Master," Saber rumbles, kneeling before him. "You need to understand. In a War like this, the only one you can trust is yourself."

"...So Kiritsugu really did do it, huh?" Saber nods, and Shirou moans dejectedly.

He doesn't even _know_ anymore. He always suspected his father was some sort of vigilante, and he will never consider that he did anything that he did for anything but the sake of justice, but… to kill innocent people for the sake of justice just… what did his father _do_ before he found him in the Great Fire?

What could make a man like Kiritsugu, who stood for justice above all else, to commit such acts?

"Young Shirou." He looks at Saber, head tilted to the side slightly. "Let me tell you why Emiya Kiritsugu killed Tohsaka Tokiomi."

* * *

"That went _awfully,_ Caster! I thought you said you were strong!"

As Atram Galiast lounged, a glass of wine in one hand and and woman draped over each shoulder, Caster stood before him in full battle plate, his golden sword sheathed on his side. His Master is a man who lives in the lap of luxury, blessed with wealth and power in his veins, and motions to exploit and _revel_ in that wealth. He consider himself superior by dint of the power in his veins and the money in his pocket, and in a way this is true. He _is_ better, for he can do things most others cannot.

But the _hubris_ that he _exudes_ through every orifice annoys him. The _incompetence_ he has shown, doing naught but send him off to fight the Holy Grail War on his own with a simple, above-average prana supply and resources that are far inferior to anything he can fabricate on his own, _angers_ him. And most of all, his _ignorance_ of so many things - _including_ his own incompetence - _infuriates_ him. "I said I could win. Logan Grimnar is not a foe to fight in close combat."

"What, Berserker?" He scoffs, gesturing wildly with his hand, and spills wine over the lip of the glass. "He's a mad dog, a buffoon with muscles instead of brains! Break his axe with a thunderbolt and blow his head off! How hard can it be? You _shot him with enough thunder to break the forest!_ "

Internally, under his breath, Caster snorts in disbelief. It is amazing how little his Master knows. Berserker is far from a mad dog, even with the haze of Mad Enhancement blinding him from more complex thought. One does not doubt the muscle memory of a warrior who has fought a century against the most brutal foes of the 41st Millennium, let alone one who has lasted a _thousand_ while leading a force that primarily attacks in _brutal close combat_ and found them _wanting._ The Axe of Morkai is a Noble Phantasm, and you do not simply destroy Noble Phantasms, even ones that are not particularly noteworthy. And it simply doesn't matter that he can wipe a forest off the map - and burn off half his prana - if he does not _hit._ But it is blatantly clear that for all his money, his Master does not have an iota of military sense.

And he can probably exploit that lack of sense for the sake of victory.

"Berserker has a degree of Magical Resistance," Caster states, otherwise motionless like a statue. Lying comes easily to him, as one who has had to escape the snare of Chaos ever since his Primogenitor fell prey to the talons of the Changer of Fate. No matter what, he _will_ win this War. His Master's eyes widen slightly, beckoning for him to elaborate. "Overwhelming it is possible, and I can guarantee Berserker's death, but we will require a more ready source of prana. Supplementing it with the lifeforce of bystanders will be insufficient."

"You want a ley line, then?" At that, his lips just barely quirk up in amusement. So his Master _isn't_ a complete buffoon. "This oriental city has multiple sites where the lines intersect, but all of them are already occupied."

"I shall handle that, Master," he offers, and he already has. Before the fight with Berserker, he had scouted out those four places. Two of them belong to other mage families - the Einzbern control one and built a castle over it, and the Tohsaka control the other and have a mansion that is all but a castle in its own right. The third is a tainted, corrupted wasteland, so toxic that any ritual-based sorcery he tries to draw out will end in genocide or suicide. The fourth place, however… No magi have laid claim to that place.

Ryuudo Temple… It's even on top of a mountain. Defensible _and_ secluded. It is a sorcerer's best hope.

"See to it, Caster. We leave tomorrow."

Caster bows and vanishes as quickly as he can, struggling to not perceive whatever depraved actions his Master is tending to in his loft. He retreats to the workshop, where a number of Rubricae stand silent and motionless. Like soulless automatons, undead mockeries of the proud Space Marines they once were. The Rubric is a mistake and an atrocity. It's creator is a megalomaniacal tyrant who would sooner sell his soul for power than remember an iota of what it means to be a brother.

His Master is a liability with a will, but admittedly his capability to supply prana is adequate. Sacrifice the personality for better prana generation, and it may be worthwhile. Combined with the leylines at Ryuudo and the advantageous geographical locale, he may be able to incarnate the Holy Grail. All he needs now is a proper guard… and Assassin has not yet been incarnated.

It will be done. The Grail will be his.

And nothing will stand in his way.


	6. Chapter 5

**_A/N_ _:_** _So the part that comes next is going to be the longest Chapter thus far, so make a sandwich and strap yourselves in. Not to mention, in the Chapter is Rider's first fight, as well as Lancer's duel with Berserker. Hopefully they match up, but in the meantime we also have some Saber/Archer shenanigans._

 _Now, the reason why this Chapter's been taking longer than the others is half because of its length, and half because I've been going back to Glory or Death a bit. Not to mention, I've been going back to the story planning, and trying to make those events match up better. It should fit together more smoothly now, but we'll have to see when I get there. Also I should note that there are omakes on the Sufficient Velocity Thread that I don't post here, so for (more) silly content, go there and check the threadmarks. I've noted them as Omakes, and there should be more to come!_

 _Also of interest is a Red Chalice Trope Page! It's still under construction, but I like Trope Pages. Contribute to it today!_

* * *

 _ **Fate/Red Chalice**_

 _ **+Thought of the Day: "Expect the Unexpected, and thou shalt suffer a sword through the chest." - Old Imperial Guard Saying+**_

* * *

 _He is back there again. On the ruin of red sands._

 _The carcasses of mighty war machines and priceless artifacts of an era long past still dot the landscape like grass on a lush field, still smoking. The corpses of fifty thousand Blood Angels and a hundred times that in mortal guardsmen still mar the sands just like the fifty thousand traitor marines and their followers. Both stain the sands crimson and black with their blood, their bodies already rotting away ,their gene-seed lost to the ravages of Baal Secundus. They shall have no legacy to call their own, no brother that shall succeed them. They will die, and many a Chapter will die with them._

 _But even then, there is the faintest glimmer of hope._

 _All that surrounds him is dust and debris. The citadel of the Blood Angels is now lost, torn to shreds by the overwhelming firepower of the forces of Chaos. They are damnable cowards and traitors who bear not a single shred of the noble quality called loyalty, and they would bring about the end of all things by corrupting the hearts of good men. But they possess great firepower, and that is true._

 _He stumbles about on a single leg, his other broken and numb to the point of uselessness. Marble chips and molten metal drip off his plate and simmer on the ground. The air is dusty, and any normal man would have asphyxiated by now. Even he, an Angel of Death, can barely carry on. Two lungs have collapsed, and one heart has stopped. He nearly died. He should have, if not for the intervention of a higher power._

 _It was all a blur. His eyes barely functioned, and the enemy was moments from snuffing the life out of him when it happened. He saw little but flashes of red and gold before it all went black. But he remembered one detail, above all. One element that he kept above all else, in spite of his wounds._

 _Those wings. Those great white wings, majestic to behold and to powerful for words. A single flap could send him flying, send an entire company flying. Only one being has ever borne such noble wings, and he is dead. But myths speak of a second, one believed to be the better nature of their fallen gene-sire._

 _The Sanguinor comes, even now._

 _He chuckles to himself. He never thought about it, but the truth is all but certain. The Emperor Protects, even those who should be protecting in his name. In their time of need, the Sanguinor comes. Who else would let him pass but the Emperor?_

 _He searches through the rubble, searching for his kin. Those nine who stood in the Tomb first, who were forced to fight when he and those under his command failed to hold the line. Those nine who are responsible for the reason they fight, the reason their Chapters shall be great once more. He must find them, for the worst may yet pass._

 _He does._

 _And they're all dead._

 _There is no time to grieve, no time to cry. He continues digging with his bare hands, for nothing else remains to dig with. His sword is shattered, and his hands are faster than a hilt. His gauntlets are shredded and bare his hands, but they will suffice._

 _Minutes tick in, hours tick out. Days pass, weeks pass. Time is an ephemeral concept he can no longer calculate except by the beating of his sole remaining heart. He keeps digging with single-minded purpose. There is nothing left to do but dig, and escape this mound. He is the sole survivor of those who would guard the Mausoleum, possibly the sole survivor of those who fight on Baal Secundus. He must confirm its survival. If it yet remains, the death of so many would be justified._

 _In spite of the many warnings, even though it would just as surely lead to despair as fear would, he hopes. He hopes, in his hearts, in all their hearts. If it yet remains, it will be worth it. The sacrifice of fifty thousand Blood Angels will be all worth it._

 _The days pass. The weeks pass. Time passes._

 _He keeps digging._

 _He never stops digging._

 _Hope holds out just as surely as duty, even though he stops processing complex thought. There is no point but to keep digging. His duty is not done until he escapes._

 _Time passes._

 _He keeps digging._

 _After a relative eternity, doing naught but plow away with his hands, he tastes fresh air._

 _Fresh dust would be more accurate, for the air of Baal Secundus remains fatally dusty. But he tastes it, the barest hints of the red, iron-tanged sand._

 _He redoubles his strength, draws on every iota of his core. His duty draws close. Hope swells in his heart, and he is too exhausted to force it down. Too exhausted to consider failure. Too exhausted to_ think.

 _His fingers break through._

 _Then his arms._

 _He pushes more than he pulls, propping himself out with what strength remains in his arms. His eyes, rapidly adjusting to the light, search for the tomb. The sarcophagus. That which would be their salvation._

 _Crawling on all fours, he keeps moving. Searching. Trying to peer through the thick walls of sand and dust and blood and death._

 _He spots it, the lid blown off. A golden case, far too beautiful for words. Many artisans would say - and have said - that it is too magnificent for mere mortal eyes, but the truth of the matter is that mere mortal eyes do not comprehend its magnificence. That which a Space Marine can perceive with augmented eyes is far more. More than murals, more than artistry, he sees a message. An ideal. The emulation of their Primarch, beloved by all._

 _Whispering a prayer under his breath, his thoughts on the prize itself, he forces himself onto his single functional leg - good would be an overstatement, there is nothing good left about him - and stands for the first time since he woke up. Possibly days, possibly weeks. Could be years, he does not know._

 _His first thought is relief, for the preserved form of his fallen Father remains._

 _The next is shock, and once more he falls onto his knees._

 _Clasped in his Father's hands is nothing but stale air._

 _The case containing the Cure, that which they have all been fighting for, is shattered on the far side of the room. It has already dried up. Everything that could be salvaged has long rotted._

 _Nothing can be recovered._

 _Decades of work, lost._

 _Centuries of searching, wasted._

 _Fifty thousand Brothers, dead._

 _All for a broken case._

 _And just as they warn, hope turns to despair._

 _He draws a deep breath into his sole remaining lung, and cries out towards the sky._

* * *

Once more Shirou wakes up in cold sweat, chest rising and falling as fast as his lungs can manage. He glances up at the clock, and feels a twinge of annoyance at waking up half an hour earlier. With nothing else to it, he goes about his morning routine, if only slightly slower. But his thoughts dwelled on the dream he just had.

There's really no doubt to who those memories belong to, but the subject matter…

Kotomine told him back then, at the church, that all Servants have a wish of their own. It is why they agree to bind themselves to a mortal magus and fight for their sake. Even those born of the Golden Throne likely have one of their own, though it typically is not one that can be granted by the Grail. But then that means that Saber's wish for the Grail is…

He enters the dojo, and finds Saber already there, knelt down and meditating. He turns slightly towards Shirou and grunts an acknowledgement of his Master's presence. It appears that he, too, maintains a routine. Though Saber's been in the dojo since last night, after…

...After he told him why Kiritsugu killed Tokiomi.

Last night remains a sore spot for him. He trusted Tohsaka - still does, actually - to watch his back, and he with hers. He can consider why she would break it after discovering that his father killed hers in the previous Holy Grail War, but at the same time he can't comprehend it. Kiritsugu did it to save lives. He knows that now. He doesn't like it, but he accepts that sometimes, people have to die.

And by that point, Tokiomi was dead. Or rather, death was a mercy compared to what had been done to him.

"Saber-"

The Blood Angel simply raises a hand to him, and the question dies on his lips. They both know he asks of his memories. "Consider my failure a lesson written in blood, Young Master," he says softly. His voice still rumbles deep baritone, but there is tenderness one would not expect a centuries-old killing machine to be capable of. "Sometimes, failure is inevitable."

He swallows. Saber - Aurelius Asterion - lost much there. Does he mean to change the War for Baal to a better outcome? "Saber, your wish-"

"The tainted Grail exacts a price greater than the miracle it grants," Saber says simply, his eyes still closed and both hands clasped on his legs. The sun is only now starting to rise over the horizon. "I would not wish for something of that magnitude, not when the price it exacts is far greater. What's done is done. The most we can hope for is the prevention of further atrocities."

He opens his mouth, then closes it. Saber dodged his question, but he has a point. Shriou stretches his arms, and prepares his morning routine with Saber. "Ah, Saber, you're a Space Marine, yes?"

Saber tilts his head. "Young Master, even if I _weren't_ a spiritual entity and thus derive absolutely no benefit from physical exercise, the regimen of an Adeptus Astartes would _kill_ you."

"I know, I was talking about your experience." Saber was a Chapter Master, and a Chapter Master lead more than just other Space Marines. He is - was - responsible for the serfs and possibly planetary defense forces as well. "You've trained guardsmen before, right?"

"It would still kill you. Those are grown men. You are a child."

Shirou only smiles. "Respectfully, Saber? Try me."

* * *

Shriou vows never to let Saber try him ever again.

"...Senpai, are you alright?"

His arms have literally never ached this bad before. The pain is like if people inserted hot iron rods into his arms, decided that was not enough, and proceeded to set them on fire as well. It is astounding, truly astounding, how much they burn. He could probably start fires with how bad his arms burn. And it's not even just his arms, his _everything_ aches and burns. His clothes probably ache too. He'll have to burn them if they don't burn themselves, for they are forever infused with the quality of aching.

"Oi, Shirou! Hurry up! You're a man! Your arms should be stronger than this!"

Is this hell? Is he in hell? Did he go to hell when Tohsaka Rin left last night crying? Maybe she put a curse on the groceries she bought yesterday and is getting payback. Maybe she bound devils into the celery. Maybe the soup stock he used was actually fire elementals. Maybe what he thought was water is actually napalm.

"Shirou! I'm talking to you!"

What do Space Marines do, bench press cars for warmups? With those biceps they probably do. Baal is apparently full of wrecks now. Maybe they bench press each other, and toss a Space Marine into the air each rep. 'Only Angels may Fly', right? Maybe that's where the saying comes from.

Something slaps him hard on the back of his head, and Shirou nearly falls face-first into the frying pan. It is only through the fear of burning his face - the only part of his body not currently set ablaze by the lactic acids in his muscle fibers - and the fact that his legs burn so bad they literally cannot bend that he keeps himself from crossing into the abyss of immense amounts of heat-related pain.

She _is_ called the red devil. Maybe that's what happens to boys who make her cry. No one else's made her cry before. Well, except Kiritsugu.

Do Kiritsugu's arms burn too?

"OI! SHIROU!" Fujimura Taiga picks him up by the collar, and Emiya Shirou finds himself staring in the gaping maw of death. "ARE YOU DONE YET?!"

"Fuji-nee, I finished cooking before you even arrived," he says flatly, his vocal chords aching too much to provide this strange thing called 'human emotion' - well not really but he needs to retort against her _somehow_ \- and too strained to mince words he points at the counter, where a bunch of bento boxes and a few plates that have been covered are waiting. "The frying pan's on because I wanted something extra."

"Oh." She lets him go sheepishly, and only his ramrod-stiff legs keep him from rocking back into the frying pan and setting the back of his head ablaze. "You… were frying eggs?"

"Yep. You want some?"

"...T-Two, please. Sunny side up."

He nods as much as he can. "Sakura, do you want some eggs?"

"Ah… no thanks, senpai. I'm on a diet." She pats her tummy softly and looks down with a frown. "I'm getting fat."

"Oh, Sakura~ I think you're growing in all the right places~"

"Fujimura-sensei, please don't talk about _that_ here!"

"Can't you see, Sakura? Shirou is so dense that he wouldn't notice anyways!"

"No, senpai isn't like that…"

Emiya Shirou, adopted son of Emiya Kiritsugu and apparently his second child, sighs, closes his ears off, and cracks open five eggs.

Yep. He's talking to Tohsaka Rin at lunch.

...He should make an extra-big bento.

* * *

The gates of Homurahara Academy are still bustling with activity when Shirou walks through them, still clenching and unclenching his hands as he goes about. Saber had elected not to stick around over his shoulder all day while at school, citing that if another enemy Master found out about him and Tohsaka at the school, they may just launch a saturation bombardment mission against the school and likely kill everyone present.

Shirou called bullshit, stating that any Master who would be willing to do that would likely be hunted down by the Association and the Church at the same time, and few are the occasions that both organisations cooperated on anything. Or so dad told him. Which, going by Saber's reaction, is likely true. Nonetheless, he had a point. And Shirou didn't want him over his shoulder all day, either. Just… close enough to protect the people around him.

So right now Saber is loitering within a kilometer of the school in spiritual form, getting an idea for the lay of the land, with the promise that if Shirou is ever in danger he would show up in… about five seconds. Maybe fifteen, if he doesn't turn tangible for the speed. Shirou would call bullshit, but Rank A Agility counted for very, very much.

That, and considering the fact that everyday is leg day for a Space Marine, he's probably really fast on that basis alone.

Well, hopefully it won't come to that. Today he has homework to do, exams to study for, and lunch to eat with one Tohsaka Rin. Assuming all goes well, maybe the alliance will be back on. He might even get a normal day at school!

"Hey, did you hear about the freak thunderbolt on saturday night?"

"I think half of Fuyuki heard it, man. It was really loud. They say it took out a quarter of the park!"

"Woah, seriously? I heard that on sunday, there was another bunch of thunderbolts that took out a _huge_ bunch of forest down on the southwest!"

"In two days? What's with the freak thunderbolts recently?"

Oh god the news is spreading.

"Hey, isn't that Emiya? Hey, Emiya! You hear about the thunderbolts recently?"

"Shut up, Daisuke! Check out the bento he's bringing! Think he'll share with us?"

"You idiot, he's clearly made lunch for two! Who do you think he's eating with?"

"I'm guessing it's Ma-"

He sighs, and carries on heedless of his classmates into the school building. They're always hounding for his lunch. He'd make some if they bothered to ask, but in two years no one's even asked once. He's not even intimidating.

Walking up the stairs, he heads for the Student Council Room, as is the routine every monday.

* * *

Half an hour later, he's done fixing the radiator in the council room _again,_ and heads for class. After sitting down at his desk, Shirou prepares his things for class, what with homeroom about to start, when a note flutters to the ground from the bottom of his desk. Reaching for it, he finds it addressed from… Tohsaka?

 _Come speak with me at school today and I will_ _get very angry_ _kill you._

…

She doesn't mean that. Tohsaka isn't a morning person, right? She's probably just still cranky.

* * *

Atop the rooftop of a busy shopping center, the red Servants look at one another. Neither is in the view of the traffic below, and far from their Masters in the middle of their education. Though they could extend the distance between the two of them and have a conversation anyways, it would reveal their locations and likely trouble their Masters.

And the sacred sight-speech of men is not a gift to be wasted.

Saber speaks first, after the passing of an eighteen-wheeler heavy transport. Rather civilian for his tastes, but then this era is _oddly peaceful._

"Your Master is serious, isn't she?"

Archer only grunts. Clearly, he is unimpressed with the bullheadedness of the redhead boy. Or maybe it is his strong sense of self-denial. "Dead serious."

"...You want to see the aftermath?"

"Definitely."

* * *

At lunch period, Shirou pokes his head out the roof access staircase carrying two bento boxes, and nearly gets his face blown off by a black bolt of condensed Finnish curse.

The sun's still out. She's definitely cranky.

"I thought I said I'd kill you, _Emiya-kun?"_ She puts harsh, guttural emphasis on addressing his name, and another Gandr forms before her left hand. The cold fury that burns behind her blue eyes is… intense, to say the least. And yet, Shirou isn't afraid of her.

Well, not enough to run at least.

"I just want to talk, Tohsaka-"

"I said I'd _kill you if you came to speak with me._ "

"Fine, fine." He sighs, and presents the bento boxes he brought in a plastic bag. "We'll do it your way, then. I brought lunch."

Gandr dissipates in an instant, her arms fall limp, and so does her mouth. All trace of anger in the one named Tohsaka Rin vanishes in the wake of the sheer incredulity of his generously oblivious (or obliviously generous) act. Internally, Shirou sighs in relief. This was a measured gesture, to at least buy him enough time to call Saber over with a Command Seal while she's still struggling for a response.

In the distance, one could even hear the stunned, nervous laughter of two red men who saw this twist of events coming and did their utmost to deny it.

"W-Wh… You… I-I…" Rin turns redder than a tomato and looks at him. Is this the look of a predator who doesn't know whether to eat her prey _now_ or play with it a little first? Or is she genuinely struggling between slapping his attempt at reconciliation away with magically-derived instruments of murder or accepting his attempt at offering lunch at the one neutral truce zone they have?

This carries on for seconds, nearly a minute. An eternity, in social time. Already he feels his attention wavering. Is she _testing_ him? He still suspects she might be _the_ devil.

And just as Shirou wonders if he's finally broken the notorious Tohsaka Rin, she finally sputters out an answer.

"F-Fine," she squeaks meekly. Smiling, he offers a box to her, and she half-snatches it out of his hand. "But no words! I hear a _sy-syllable_ out of you, Emiya-kun, and-"

He puts a finger to her lips, trying not to react at the soft touch (and thus completely ruin the moment) and only smiles and nods. He sits down beside her, and opens up his own lunch to dig into. Maybe they can't talk. Maybe he can't tell her about what really happened to Tokiomi Tohsaka. But this? Eating lunch with the legendary red devil while she's being incredibly adorable by being taken by surprise?

This is nice.

The rest of lunch passes by with little trouble.

* * *

Far away, the possible future self of Emiya Shirou rubs at his temples and wonders just how it is that, no matter the time period, every single iteration of Emiya Shirou will inevitably make a girl's heart flutter like it is a _fucking butterfly._ Even he wasn't exempt from it. Saber, Sakura, Rin, Luvia, Ayako… It almost makes him regret leaving them for the sake of his ideal. And now that he has been betrayed by everything, retrospect tells him that having even one woman like that in his life who could understand him would have made all the difference.

Verbally, however, all he expresses is "That fucking kid…"

Saber, however, is sniggering his ass off, as the Angels of Death are known to do in the face of certain schadenfreude. "And once more my Master has eked past death in spite of deliberately trying to die. I must now wonder if he's devilishly brilliant, utterly dense, or simply immensely fortunate and unfortunate in the best way."

The answer, Archer sardonically muses, is _all of the above._

He _really_ has better things to do than watch his old self and the girl he loved and would almost settle down with eat like love-struck teenagers. Or, more specifically, one love-struck teenager and one dense block of anti-romance, who couldn't notice a girl liked him even if she ambushed him in bed while wearing lingerie.

He would know. It happened once. Ayako, when they graduated.

She was very. very drunk.

And then Sakura came in wearing the same getup.

It was - still is - very strange.

He shakes his head at the memories of his old life. The summoning ritual was properly done this iteration, save for the poor timing typical of the Tohsaka, so he remembers much more than before. New fragmented flashbacks just come to him at the most inopportune times pending the strangest triggers.

He hunts for something, anything, to break his current train of thought.

"Interesting," Saber muses. "They appear to be… what's the nomenclature… 'making out'.

Startled, Archer looks closer only to find the two… still awkwardly eating lunch together. He shoots dirty looks at Saber, who only sniggers again.

"Why," the red bowman asks.

"Because you must always stay alert," replies the red Space Marine. "And… it is funny."

"My revenge shall come, Saber. My sudden and inevitable betrayal will be swift and unrelenting."

He grins. "Then I eagerly await it."

* * *

When Shirou returned to class, he expected them to mostly ignore him so he could finish some work for World History. Maybe the girls would confront him a bit on Shinji's apparent disappearance - especially since the last time he punched him he kind of landed in the tree - but besides that he would be left alone. Which is good, because Kuzuki left them homework he did not touch once over the weekend, and that's… well honestly he wouldn't normally care, but Kuzuki Souichirou is _really scary._

What happened, however, was the entire class just _looking_ at him as he enters through the door. They stop what they are doing and just turn to stare at him with their eyes wide-open. It's weird. Did he have something on his face?

Wait, no. Their eyes are more… expectant. You could even say they are in awe. "Guys, what's with the-"

"I saw it!" One guy with glasses jumps up on his table, shouting hysterically. "I SAW IT! ON THE ROOF!"

The atmosphere shifts.

So they saw it, huh? Well, not like he made it secret or anything. I guess it's a big deal when you eat with Ms. Perfect, but when you do it to keep her from brutally maiming you…

Oh, wait. They don't know that. So going by pure appearance, it looks like he made another bento and then ate with her on the roof, alone, while she was flushed red and jittering. What was the term…

Oh, right, it's 'lunch d-

...

They think he had a date with her.

...Shirou could _feel_ the pin drop at any moment.

"Oh my god," some guy in the back says out loud. "He actually had lunch with Tohsaka."

The rumor is already getting out of control.

"He actually did it. Emiya Shirou, densest block of lead this side of the galaxy, instigated and then _managed to score with Tohsaka fucking Rin."_

He should probably do something about it.

"Well what did you expect? Honor student with honor student!"

"Emiya isn't an honor student though!"

"He's basically there, only reason he isn't is coz Taiga refuses to give him higher scores in english."

"Oh Taiga," the student sighs.

"Oh Taiga," the entire class sighs.

"Oh god," Shirou sighs. If there truly is a just and fair god, may he express himself now.

Right on cue, Kuzuki Souichirou practically glides into class. But his every footfall has such gravitas that it seems to shake like an earthquake every time he takes a step. He takes a brief scan of the entire classroom, and everyone _flies_ back to their seats.

Shirou looks upwards, and smiles to himself.

There _is_ a just and fair god.

* * *

Even in the middle of the day, the cemetery retains an air of bleakness and melancholy, as if the very place itself is permeated with the regrets of a hundred dead heroes. It may well be, considering the number of people who perished in the Great Fire. The number of people who died in the plague that struck just days prior. The number of people who died trying to save those unfortunate enough to be caught in the middle of two massive disasters.

Disasters _he_ caused. All for the sake of a tainted wish.

If Emiya Kiritsugu could wish for anything in the world, it would be to undo everything. He regrets everything, for he betrayed everything, and was in turn betrayed by everything. Which is only fair, and he has come to terms with that a long time ago. Well, he thought he did.

But now, looking at Ilya, with the fifth Heaven's Feel starting off… Has he truly come to terms with the price he has exacted on others, and the price he has paid? Or has he simply given up on everything?

If nothing else, this entire experience has forced him to reflect on many issues he has not looked on for a long, long time. How the 4th War has shown him, in so many ways, that his method will lead to his own destruction. The Grail showed him the extinction of mankind in his bid to end conflict. Saber has shown him the end of his lonely road, a machine built for war and killing with no remorse for the atrocities he commits in the name of duty and the survival of mankind. And the things that lurk beyond the stars, awaiting the ascension of mankind to the void...

In the grimdark future of the 41st Millennium, there is only War.

It is why he is here.

 _Here Lies Irisviel von Einzbern_

 _Beloved Wife and Mother_

...It is why she is here.

"...I'm here, Iri."

If only he learned of all this before he sacrificed his wife for the sake of a tainted wish.

He places a bouquet of white roses before it, and lights one joss stick for her. He stands there, hands clasped before him, and stands there in quiet, thoughtful consideration.

"I'm… I'm sorry I never came."

It took him five years and nearly expiring to a curse to gain the courage to face her once more. They had both known that in order to actualise his wish, her sacrifice was demanded. Her purpose was to become the Holy Grail. They had both known it. It was why she gave him Ilya, so he would always have hope even after she was gone.

But in the end, he still betrayed her.

And in the end, he could not even protect their daughter.

And now, though all that stands before him is a tombstone, he can still feel the stony eyes of judgement on his back. And their gaze is piercing. He is probably going to hell, wherever that may be.

"A lot has happened. I… adopted a son, Shirou. He's a… he's a good kid. You would have liked him."

Another pregnant pause, as he struggles to press on. His hands are still shaking. He finds it hard to breathe. Tears are welling up. For the longest time, Emiya Kiritsugu has lost the ability to simply ignore his emotions for a time. He gets by by simply not feeling anything, not getting involved in anything… but now it… just hits him like a truck.

"I… I couldn't save Ilya, and now… she's participating. And she… hates me."

He falls quiet once more, a faceless tombstone staring at him. Judging him. Blaming him.

Emiya Kiritsugu laughs bitterly.

"Remember the times before the War, Iri? When Ilya was still a child? We would laugh, and joke that Ilya should stay young and adorable forever." Another laugh, forced, bitter and full of self-hate. "Time and time again, I keep discovering new ways to get betrayed by myself. Maybe I should have abandoned the War like I suggested so long ago."

Emiya Kiritsugu, the former Magus Killer, sighs and puts his hands in his coat pockets. He has very little left in his life. The only reasons he still lives are Shirou and Ilya. Maybe he can teach Shirou something, to keep him off the path he inadvertently passed onto his adoptive son, the sole survivor of the Great Fire. Protect him from the mistakes that a child named Kerry made, when Shirley died.

"If only Ilya would talk to me," Kiritsugu laments. But that won't happen. Ilya's suffered too much, been abandoned too long, been forgotten too long. Who knows? Maybe his daughter will find solace in his death, before her own expiration to serve as a cup with seven lumps in it.

"Then rejoice, Emiya Kiritsugu. Your wish shall come true."

Kiritsugu looks left, frowning, and spots the last person he wants to see… ever. Kotomine Kirei looks back at him with his usual infuriatingly smug, knowing, insufferable smile, his hands clasped behind his back. Now he even wears a goddamn mullet.

Who still even _has a mullet?_

"What are _you_ doing here?" This he says, a hand wrapped around the pistol in his pocket. It likely won't do anything - Kotomine was an Executor, one of the best, and he apparently wasn't affected by Caster's plague or the Grail curse - but an ingrained reflex is not something that can be easily broken.

"I come to tend to His people, wherever they may be, in their time of need," Kotomine replies with open arms. The priest is taller than he was, in the 4th War. An aftereffect of having a Saint for a Servant for so long, and devoting himself on her path? Something else about him is off, different from ten years ago, but he's… weaker somehow. Past his prime. "And you, Emiya Kiritsugu. You are certainly in need."

The elder Emiya only grunts, looking at his eyes. Kotomine is confident, calm, completely in control of himself. He's having _fun._ It appears that he, more than most, has done well after the 4th War. Who else survived the War? The Masters of Lancer and Rider? As he recalls, that boy did well in these ten years. Maybe he could do a favor for the younger Tohsaka. The least he can do, after stealing her father from her.

Kotomine matches his gaze easily, and then laughs. "You're still worried about the tainted grail, Emiya Kiritsugu?"

"It is the concentrated curses of six billion people with a history that spans the existence of mankind, contained within an omnipotent wish-granting device. Only a fool wouldn't worry about it." His eyes narrow. And with both his children involved in the War, and his old Servant currently bonded to his son…

Another laugh. "And you, Emiya Kiritsugu, are not?" Kiritsugu's glare intensifies, but to the priest it is like being in the middle of a minor drizzle. "You gripe and struggle with your own mistakes and about the betrayal you inflict and suffer, ten years after your life died. You delude yourself teaching your son, knowing full well he'll still dedicate his life to justice and salvation. You regret your methods, you regret your sacrifices, you regret everything you've done to save mankind with your meager powers. And now, when your daughter wants her vengeance, you shut down and completely ignore your other child."

Kiritsugu's eyes widen. Shirou? Inconceivable. He has tried to help him prepare for the War. He has taught him magecraft, gotten additional resources, even safe houses in the event their house is besieged and/or destroyed. How _dare_ this priest accuse him of not caring for his son?

He snorts, in a manner so like a Space Marine. "You _disappoint_ me, Emiya Kiritsugu. What happened to the Master of Saber? He did not strike me as a man who would perform such a thing as _petty favouritism._ "

Kiritsugu _snarls_ in a rare show of emotion, blinking past the tears he shed beforehand. "You claim I don't care for the only family I have left?"

"Hardly! I wouldn't dare imply you don't care." He snorts. "But for a father, you have been more detrimental than helpful to your son, knowing that in the Holy Grail War, one must seize upon every opportunity they can get. You left everything to your son when your daughter flew into murderous rage and you didn't explain to Tohsaka Rin about her father's death. How troublesome," Kotomine smirks, and leans forward a bit. "Who knows? Maybe Emiya Shirou would be better served if I killed you right now."

"How do you know about any of those?" The gears in his mind churn. Kotomine likely followed them a fair distance when they left, and it is likely that he'd keep track of the younger Tohsaka, even if she doesn't report in. But, of course, he would reply in the most infuriating way.

"Rin vocalises her thoughts often, and I keep track of everything that occurs in Fuyuki, Emiya Kiritsugu." Kotomine grins. "Even the miracle that saved your life five years ago."

Kiritsugu frowns. Of _course_ he'd be aware. "Then you know?"

"I know everything, Emiya Kiritsugu." His grin widens. "But now, a question: Why are you still alive?"

"You literally just told me you knew."

"Tut tut. You are dodging the question. I'm not asking _how,_ but _why?_ "

The priest is dangerous, even now. But he is also right. He should be helping Shirou, not be content to let his son bumble along. "...Why are you helping me?"

"My place is Judgement. Why else do I live?" He smirks, closing his eyes. "Consider this an intervention, Emiya Kiritsugu. If you cannot contribute to your son's fight, then you should give yourself up to your daughter."

* * *

"Thanks for the groceries, old man."

"You keep buying this much stuff, kid, and I'll throw in some fish for free!" The old man at the market laughs as Shirou retreats through the door, bags of foodstuff hanging off his arms. In spite of everything, they ran out of food again, so he had to dip into the 'Taiga Fund' once more. If their expenditure keeps up at this rate… Well, he'd have to start working again. And with the War going on, he can't exactly put in overtime at Coperhagen…

 _You realise, Master, that you don't need to cook for five?_

Saber's commentary did not exactly help. Well, it did help break up the boredom and worrying, but he asked plenty of questions. Who knew a Space Marine would want to know so much about living normally? _Have you seen Fuji-nee eat?_

 _I assume she doesn't eat for three people, and I'm not eating. Which means…_ Through their mental link, Saber snorts in amusement. _So it's like that, huh?_

Shirou scowls, even though there's no one around him to scowl at. His Servant's coming up with strange ideas again. What was it that Kiritsugu said… 'don't learn from his example'? How can a Chapter Master be so _cheeky?_ You'd think anyone who has lived eight hundred years in a galaxy torn apart by War makes every single Holy Grail War thus far look like a lover's quarrel would be more…

...Wait no he answered his own question. Of _course_ he isn't taking this one seriously. In his life, he's dealt with worse. The Grail War is literally a game compared to what he had to deal with. He could never hope to empathise with an existence that was made for battle the moment they accepted the genes of the Angel into them. Even if Saber is sympathetic and understandable on many levels.

Even so, he would rather his Servant not question his methods. _What are you implying, Saber?_

 _Master, I would advise against pursuing a romantic relationship during a murderous tournament, but she is highly amusing. I approve completely._

He blushes, but keeps walking. _It's a tactic. Eventually I'll be able to talk to her over lunch and explain what happened, and we can get back to being in an alliance._

 _Young Master, I am an emotionless vampiric sword-wielding demigod of war participating in a seven-way duel to the death against other heroes from all over the time axis, be they from the thirtieth millennium on or from the distant Age of Terra, not blind to relationships and romance. You are smitten._

 _I'm really not._ Tohsaka was pretty, but… eh, _maybe_ after the War. Asking her out in the middle of a fight where either of them could die at any time is… irresponsible, in a way? And probably morally reprehensible. He looks around, taking in the sights. He would rather not have to be confronted on his relationship status by a Space Marine. Even if he _is_ a Blood Angel.

On the edge of his vision, he spots a streak of purple and white.

Shirou blinks, but it is already gone. Could it be…? _Saber, did you see that?_

 _Yes. It is nothing to be worked up about._

Shirou frowns at that. Why would his Servant consider a possible sighting of Ilya nothing to be worried about. He should probably follow her. Maybe they could even talk. _I'm going after her._

 _Young Master, do not take this as an insult, but she will actually murder you without blinking._

 _She's a kid, and more importantly she's my sister. She won't._

 _Have you any idea how many genocidal psykers and heretical tyrant scum disguised as children I have slain?_

 _This isn't the 42nd Millennium._

And before his Servant can object, he is already off.

* * *

It is surprising how hard it can be to find a little albino girl in a purple jacket in Fuyuki City.

Shirou can reinforce his legs to run faster, reinforce his lungs to breathe harder, reinforce his eyes to see farther, and so on and so forth. He is a pretty good archer, having only ever missed the target board once in his life. He's semi-decent with a gun, the few times Kiritsugu brought him to the range, and he's rarely missed with those too. He can apparently analyse the histories of swords, too, and trace them back to their point of origin.

But Ilyasviel von Einzbern is _impossible_ to follow. It is like she was born in the city of Fuyuki to begin with. The way she just navigates through alleyways and tiny streets, twisting and turning like a snake through the towns, is simply uncanny. The best he can do, carrying his groceries, is catch bare glimpses of her purple dress and white hair as she rounds a turn. Almost like…

Almost like she wants him to follow her. Because there is probably no way in hell he could keep up with her without Saber's help otherwise.

The cat and mouse game carries on for half an hour, and by the end of it he's panting. Maybe he should've dropped these off at home first, or ignored it completely. Saber might have had a point… but he wants to talk to Ilya. He needs to. He wants to know more about his father, in a way Kiritsugu will never open up in. But all around him, in the bleak and charred woodland park, he can't find any trace of white hair, red eyes, or purple outdoor wear.

...Wait.

Shirou blinks, taking in the surroundings, and then his eyes widen in shock.

This is the Fuyuki Memorial Park.

 _The landscape is ablaze_

And right there is Kiritsugu, sitting alone on a bench.

"D-Dad?"

Emiya Kiritsugu looks up, breaking from his trance, and tilts his head quizzically as Shirou goes over briskly. "Shirou… why are you here?"

"I thought I… nevermind." Planting the food before him, he takes a seat. "I thought you hated this place."

"I do." He exhales, a lamenting gesture. "This place that reminds me just how much I failed in the 4th War. I found you right there," he says, pointing at a small tree in the distance, thin and pale as if sickly. "It made me… glad."

The two sit there, quietly, and take in the atmosphere. Honestly speaking, Emiya Shirou has always found the Memorial Park scary. It is a place that simply screams 'death' at you. Every bit, every iota, seems lifeless. The trees are unnaturally wilted. The park facilities look neglected and aged. The people in it seem to move sluggishly and lethargically. You could see the life dripping from them the longer they stayed. The longer he stayed. It is a sick place.

It made him wonder. "How did you find out the Grail was tainted?"

"When I drowned in it, and it revealed its intentions unto me." A pause, and Kiritsugu snorts. "When I refused, it cursed me. And then when Kotomine and I destroyed the Grail using Saber and Assassin, its contents spilled out and consumed a large swath of Shinto." He gestures with an arm, sweeping across their field of vision. "This is the very epicenter of that scar on the world. Ground Zero of the final battle of the 4th Holy Grail War, where the manifest curses of all mankind stretching across all history drowned the landscape in death and desolation."

"Ah." Another awkward pause, as Shirou struggles to lead into another question. Kiritsugu looks uncomfortable, but resigned, as if expecting the next query to come. It is only natural, considering he never talked about the 4th War before, but it still hurts. Emiya Shirou still wonders if he should ask.

Oh, what the hell. He can guess what happened to the magical talent of the Magus Killer. "Why did you go out today?"

"Visiting a grave," Kiritsugu replies simply. "Iri deserves better than just one visit in ten years, but…" He sighs. "She deserves better. They both do."

Shirou nods in sympathy. Kiritsugu loved his wife, and he loved his daughter. And the way Ilya lashed out that night showed that… she loved him too. Or she used to.

What twisted that love into hate?

Can he do anything about it?

Should he?

He leans back into the bench, content to look up at the skies. At least being in the park did not magically make the skies bleak and dreary. They are blue, bright, and hopeful. They speak of a brighter future for them, for all of them.

"You can make it up to her, dad. I know it. You made it up to me, after all," Shirou smiles.

Kiritsugu looks back, wide-eyed, at his son. Something resembling hope returns to them. He closes them and nods as well.

"...Yeah. Thank you, Shirou."

"Anytime, dad."

"For now, let's just sit here."

"...Sure."

Letting their minds roam, the two Emiya men look up to the skies above.

And behind their bench, far away behind a tree trunk, Ilyasviel von Einzbern looks upon the two with sad eyes, and then departs. The looming shadow of a wolf lord, an imposing presence unseen but certainly felt, follows behind her, always five of her steps away.

* * *

Walking through the streets of Fuyuki City while evening falls does not seem like the most daunting proposition to most people, but most people are not Ilyasviel von Einzbern, and the city is like a labyrinth to her, even with the heightened senses of a Homunculus and the use of scouting familiars. Maybe if she were taller this wouldn't be a problem, but… that was never an option once Kiritsugu abandoned the War.

The overclocking of her circuits and all the other modifications that were made ever since the 4th War have stunted her growth, keeping her at the perpetual age of ten in spite of being eighteen. She'll never go through puberty, never know romance, never know what it would be like to meet people of her age bracket eye-to-eye. She'll probably die before the War ends, too. Berserker is strong, but too many Servants and…

...And she'll become a cup, waiting to be filled with seven lumps. Just like mama.

She's already been betrayed by Kiritsugu, just like mama.

And he was right there, with Shirou in the park, looking at the clouds. She wanted to talk to him, maybe make him one of her dolls like Kiritsugu, so they can be brother and sister for what time she has left, but then she noticed Kiritsugu in the park. Why was he in there? Why wasn't he doing anything?

Why isn't she watching the clouds with him?

Berserker was with her. Just one word, and she'd have them both. Saber was watching, probably still is, and he's fast.

But Berserker is faster. Berserker is stronger. Berserker is tougher. Berserker can kill anyone. Just a word, and they would be hers.

But when she saw the two of them sitting down, just talking, she… didn't see Kiritsugu, the Magus Killer, or Shirou, Master. She saw Kiritsugu, a broken man. And Shirou, just a boy.

No, she was going to do it anyways. Kiritsugu is still Kiritsugu, broken or not. And Shirou is still every bit as stupid as Shirou, Master or boy.

So why didn't she?

Was it because he talked about visiting mama's grave?

Was it because Shirou told him to fix his mistakes?

Was it because of the brass giant looking from a rooftop, his blonde Finnish Master in tow, waiting for the moment to strike? The ones who have been trailing her since she left the Memorial Park?

On the outskirts of Fuyuki, near the Einzbern Forest treeline, there are only a few abandoned buildings, being overrun by nature. Whatever people were nearby, she had already pushed away with a hypnotic suggestion. They are alone, surrounded by very little civilisation, and the sun is about to set.

Everything looks pretty and melancholic, tinted in orange. Like how something is going to end, just like the daylight.

"You can stop now, Luvia," she says, not bothering to turn and face the young head of the Edelfelt Family. "I'm getting annoyed about being followed."

* * *

In the far distance, Saber looks on the coming confrontation with grim, cold logic. The girl was there the whole time, and his Master failed to notice it. Kiritsugu might have missed it, but he might have chosen to ignore it like the suicidal fool he is. There was no way he could make it to them in time, short of a Command Seal, and lacking artillery he is in a more difficult position. Invictus will not work again. The best he can do is grab them and run, injuries be damned.

But this… Lancer fighting Berserker. Two Masters of incredible capacity, though one is much more incredible than the other. Lancer, being Moloc, will have the advantage against a Space Marine. But Berserker, being Logan, can likely out-fight Moloc in close quarters even with madness shrouding his sight and Moloc augmented by his skill at killing his own kin. But Moloc has his spear and lascannon.

Night begins to fall on Fuyuki City, and it would be excellent intelligence if he could keep track of this battle. But the longer he stays, the likelier they'll move to take him. No doubt at least one of the pair know he's watching. And he has his Master to protect as well, what with the alliance being broken off by the Tohsaka.

He shakes his head, and returns to ethereal form. Let the results of that battle sort itself out. He has other things to settle with.

Such as the naivety of his young, stupid Master.

* * *

Berserker fully manifests, one hand clasped around the Axe of Morkai, and looking straight at Lancer and his Master. Lancer looks back impassively, blood-soaked brass visor blank but for the snarling visage carved into it. Luvia steps out from behind his back, one hand behind her back and the other posed under her chin.

"Ohoho? Impressive, little Einzbern! You noticed a _giant brass demigod_ and an exotic blonde Magus chasing after you on a rooftop, after making no attempt to disguise themselves!" She raises her chin higher - any higher and her neck is going to snap off, Ilya will make _sure_ of it - and points with her free hand. "What is the matter? Are you angry you didn't notice us sooner?"

Witty retorts aside, Ilyasviel von Einzbern has better things to worry about, like battle strategy. The Edelfelt, like the Tohsaka, are masters of gem-based magecraft, which they can either use to augment their own stores, use as focuses for larger scale spells, or detonate like magical explosives. Luviagelita Edelfelt, the 'Forklift Lady', is notorious for being a master of the lancashire style of combat, also known as the precursor to modern wrestling. Considering her smaller size, if Luvia gets close Ilya is dead in Master on Master combat. And with the kind of Servant that Lancer is, she can't stay close to Berserker and expect him to protect her like with Caster and Saber.

Behind Luvia's back are gems, held between her fingers, charged with prana and ready to attack at any moment. She's going to try and attack her while Berserker fights Lancer, initiate Master on Master hostilities, and close the distance. And because Lancer isn't weakened like Saber, he'll be a fair fight. In spite of her appearance, Luvia has done a surprising amount of planning. She and Lancer would be a problem, if not for two important factors.

Firstly, Ilyasviel von Einzbern, for all that she looks and acts like an adorable little albino girl with a cute dress and flawless skin and bright red eyes, is ruthless, pragmatic, and _eighteen years old._ Granted, she was sheltered for all of those eighteen years, knows very little of the outside world, and quite frankly acting like a kid is fun. But that's because she spent all those ten years after the 4th War _training for this one._ Which is how when she noticed them fifteen minutes ago, she started summoning more familiars, and now has plenty of them just waiting in hiding.

Secondly, Berserker is the _strongest Servant in the 5th War._

"Sorry, Luvia," she smiles innocently, "But I'm not in the mood for banter today." Her eyes harden, and fifteen familiars rise out of the buildings, the grass and the woods while she forms five more with her hands, each and every one of them transforms into a sword. They shoot straight at her, and are blasted out of the air with a dense hail of black bolts.

"I thought you'd do something like that," she grins. "As a worthy opponent would!"

"I guessed." Ilya tilts her head to the side adorably, eyes bright and wide open, and six blade-familiars shoot up from beneath the roof tiles she stands on. She dodges five, just barely, and the sixth is struck from existence by a contemptuous swing of Lancer's spear. "You're okay, Luvia, but I don't feel like fighting today."

Berserker snarls, and seems to swell to three times his size.

"Berserker, kill them."

His armor roars more than it snarls. His muscles coil and rattle, like snakes in ambush. He howls, and plants one armored foot into the ground hard enough to split the pavement. Logan Grimnar kicks himself off the ground, into the sky, and right down at the Brass Minotaur. Lancer leaps off the roof to meet the charge, and axe blade meets spearhead in explosive fashion.

The roof shatters in the wake of Lancer's charge, and Luvia hops off as well. Six blue gemstones blaze bright between the knuckles of her right hand, and her left hand blasts out an unending torrent of black burning bolts of a Finnish death curse.

Ilya looks back, her eyes impassioned, and several blue ethereal string-shields impose themselves between her and the Edelfelt. A dozen birds reveal themselves from the young girl's hair, their beaks glowing bright with concentrated mana.

High above them, a Wolf fights a Minotaur in a battle so furious, they are as blurs of shadowed color pressed against a paling amber sky.

Luvia hits the ground, and their fight begins.

* * *

"Master, I am sorely disappointed."

Moments after dropping off the groceries, Shirou and Kiritsugu turn to find their mutual Servant standing in the middle of the living room, hands clasped behind his back, his face unreadable because of the damn face-concealing full helmet in the way but his posture very telling of annoyance and perhaps small trace amounts of anger. Only trace amounts, of course, barely enough to channel as fuel to cause untold amounts of mayhem as only a Blood Angel could.

Because neither of them can survive a Blood Angel's fury.

Shirou is _still_ kind of sore from this morning. That wasn't guardsman physical conditioning, he was using _aspirant_ techniques. He looks back, halfway through putting on an apron, with an eyebrow cocked. "What about, Saber? Ilya wasn't at the park."

The Servant is unmoving, but his demeanour is severe. "She was. I saw her. Your father can confirm it."

Emiya Shirou looks Emiya Kiritsugu in the eye, and the former Magus Killer can only sigh and nod in agreement. And then he shrugs, because he wasn't going to do anything about it _anyway,_ and neither was Shirou. Knowledge of her presence is unnecessary, save for Shirou probably going to try and invite her over.

Which, of which there is no doubt to Kiritsugu and Saber that she would either run away, or murder them all. Not even with Berserker. She would do it herself, and fill them full of swords and mana bolts. Because Ilyasviel von Einzbern has grown up - figuratively and chronologically speaking - into a very dangerous little girl. If Kiritsugu hadn't intended for her to stay as far away from fighting as humanly possible and finds her very presence in Japan a horrible crime on his part, he might have been proud.

As it stands, Saber only snorts.

And then Shirou feels a chill run down his spine.

"She and Berserker were both right there." His tone is calm and even, his stance stoic and eternal like the mountains. But there is very little doubt that Saber isn't angry and lecturing him. "She intended to eviscerate the both of you, in a dark isolated recreational area with few witnesses and incredible density of secluded areas. Many areas to hide the bodies, if she even bothered to leave them." He laughs, bitterly and sardonically. "I daresay Logan Grimnar would have broken every bone in our bodies with one hand, even in his maddened state, just to keep things fresh."

"Saber…" Shirou steps forward, hand stretched outwards. "Ilya's family. I'm sure that if I could just make her listen-"

"We Space Marines are family. All of us. Blood Angel or Space Wolf. Even the Black Legion are kin to us. We share genetic legacy through the Primarchs, and through them the Emperor. And yet, we would kill each other if needs must." He snorts, and lightly bats his Master's hand aside, bruising it in the process. "Kinship means _nothing_ , Young Master. Young Ilyasviel _hates_ your mutual father, and she will _certainly_ kill you if you stand in her way. I was too far to intervene. She had the both of you, ready to kill like livestock. The only reason I can conceive that she would ignore such an opportunity is… pure luck." He shrugs. "That or Lancer."

At the mention of the Brass Legionnaire, Shirou springs into motion. "You saw _Lancer_ at the park too?!"

"They're fighting as we speak. Luviagelita and Ilyasviel were about to begin their duel when I left, whilst Berserker and Lancer fought above them."

Shirou is almost halfway out the door when Saber rematerialises in front of him, his wide armored form blocking the doorway off completely. "Do not be stupid. Theirs is not a battle we can intervene in."

"They are fighting and one of them is going to _die,_ " Shirou responds, his eyes hard and determined now. "I joined this War to limit deaths, so I am going to break up that fight _now._ "

"Go now, and at best we would be cannon fodder." Saber looks down at his Master, Shirou's head touching against his chestpiece. "You know my capabilities, Master. At my prime I may have a decent shot at matching Logan Grimnar, even now. As we are?" He snorts. "You would die, and exacerbate the situation."

"I am _not_ leaving them," Shirou states firmly, and reveals his left hand. "Do not make me use them, Saber."

"Shirou." Kiritsugu calls from the kitchen, his voice tired but firm. "Leave it. Even if you leave now, and use a Command Seal to accelerate Saber, you won't arrive in time to make a difference."

Shirou narrows his eyes, matching gazes with the lenses on his Servant's helmet. "You should have told me in the park! We could have stopped it before it even started!"

"Or died sooner," Saber scoffs. "Everything I _do_ is to maximise our chances of victory, Young Master, but it appears our past sessions have been insufficient."

He flexes his fingers, and Shirou feels another chill down his spine. Is he _really_ going to beat him to a pulp him again in demeaningly inventive ways, under the pretense of a 'spar'?

"You know your limits against a Servant. You know your physical limits as a human. I cannot say for your magical capabilities, but I shall leave that to you. Now, there is nothing but proper training to do." Shirou's eyes widen. He's actually doing this. "Your skills will likely never increase by leaps and bounds, for we do not have actual months of time. We have days. The best I can do is hone your instincts.

"You wish to protect as many people as possible, Master? Then prepare your skills. Yours is a wish that demands power and skill to realise, not a cup filled with lies."

Shirou looks at his Servant, and nods. "Fine."

Saber crosses his arms and nods, his point carried across. It appears his Servant is planning something again. No matter. He can only hope that Luvia knows when to disengage. She seems nice. "Excellent. But nonetheless, you have some very _strange_ priorities, Master. I will have to rectify them. Immediately."

Another chill runs down his spine.

This is his plan, then?

Then so be it.

"Trace, on."

Saber swings around with a roundhouse kick, and Shirou just barely absorbs the blow with an imaginary weapon that should not exist before slamming through a paper and wood door.

* * *

Luvia hits the ground, and six massive fireballs roar into existence. Just as quickly, six massive fireballs sizzle out of existence as they collide against Ilya's barriers, and the Edelfelt kicks off the ground and off towards her in a single smooth motion. She rips her sleeves off - Ilya faintly notes that they seem detachable and that's actually kind of cool - and her gloves glow chromatic.

She reaches the first barrier, and punches clean through it with a strong fist. Eight more remain between her and the little Einzbern, and she shows no signs of stopping. She carries on, unceasing, ripping through those walls like wheat before a combine-harvester. Ilya continues looking on impassively at the charging, grinning Edelfelt, while up above Lancer counters Berserker's swing with an uprooted tree - that is, a tree he uprooted - and just barely blocks an overhead axe strike with the haft of his spear.

The third barrier breaks, then the fourth, then the fifth. Luvia slides through them with brutal, focused punches, breaking through with the overwhelming ferocity of the Lancashire. Ilya just keeps looking back, even smiling a little.

Her right fist halts inches before the final shield, and Luvia leaps back from the Einzbern with a wary look. Ilya hasn't been shooting familiars, throwing swords, or all the sorts of things that she had been doing earlier. Maybe she noticed, then?

She speaks first, and tosses a blonde curl over her shoulder. "You really don't want to fight, huh?"

"Don't feel like it," Ilya looks back, still holding that innocent, child-like smile. "Berserker will kill Lancer, and then he'll kill you."

Berserker hits the ground hard two blocks away, sending heavy tremors through the ground and punching a deep crater into the road. He climbs out a moment later, sweeping the dust clouds away with a single swing of his gigantic arms. The Axe of Morkai is curiously absent.

A mere moment later, Lancer plows into the ground right next to him, nearly cleaved in half by the Axe of Morkai from shoulder to pelvis and then his head down to the neck. Blood squirts out of what flesh has not been cauterised by its power field, and the dust cloud is dispersed again by another flap of Berserker's arm. The Black Spear embeds itself to its head into the asphalt nearly simultaneously, right beside him.

Ilya tilts her head to Luvia, and starts humming a tune she heard on the way here. It was from a movie, she one with the square and the starfish. It was funny.

But what _is_ a Goofy Goober? And why would they call a place Bikini Bottom? She should go research this series after the War.

"Sorry, Luvia, but it's true." She shrugs. "Berserker is the strongest. Lancer couldn't even compare."

The Brass Legionnaire convulses, and Ilya stops humming. He's dead though, isn't he?

"I'm not sure about that, Ilyasviel von Einzbern," Luvia grins. "Your Berserker may be the strongest, but he is not the _toughest."_

The split halves of Lancer piece themselves together, spitting the Axe of Morkai out. Berserker, with caution unbefitting his class, plucks his weapon out of the air and retreats a leap away. Lancer's hand twitches, wrapping around his spear, and plucks it out while the last of his flesh reforms.

The Curse of Immortality, then? Lancer has more lives to spend _._

Interesting.

A mental command to Berserker incites the Wolf Lord to rush back and pick Ilya up, setting her on his shoulder pauldrons. Lancer moves to guard his own Master, standing protectively between her and him. The brass armor, the blood stains… it is clear.

Asterion Moloc, then? An interesting summon for an interesting Master.

"Leaving already?" Luvia sighs, almost disappointed, but with no intent of pursuit. "But we've barely begun."

"Thanks for breaking the monotony, Luvia, but I gotta go." She waves, even while Logan dismisses Morkai. "Bye bye."

Without waiting for a response, Berserker launches off the ground and towards the north, leaving another pair of footprints embedded into the asphalt. Once they're in the woods, Berserker will then head back towards Castle Einzbern. It's unlikely Luvia could break the boundary field open, but… she's surprised her already.

Ilya barely even remembers being sore about Kiritsugu and Shirou after that. It was fun.

Maybe it's more than just Shirou and Rin that are interesting in this War.

* * *

Projection. He used Projection.

"Impressive, Master. You seem to be able to momentarily impress an imaginary object into reality. But such tricks alone will not be sufficient to buy enough time against a Servant bent on your annihilation!"

Shirou raises a hastily-projected shinai to block a backhand strike, and it shatters into a thousand splinters on contact. Saber follows up with the same hand, with speed far beyond mortals, and pokes him in the forehead hard enough to send him tumbling.

Kiritsugu can only smile. His son is using Projection. A thoroughly useless thaumaturgy, though one of high level, that is simply more wasteful than Reinforcement for much less gain. He told him to abandon that path, and focus on the other forms of magecraft. But looking at him now, the fading splinters of Taiga's sword seem… more than the usual Projection.

Saber isn't really trying, using only one hand and one leg, but that is still enough. Considering his status as Servant and past as Space Marine Chapter Master, there is little doubt of that. Skill compensates for much, and augments much more. But that Shirou isn't currently huddled up in a ball of bandages is surprising. Indeed, the way he's fighting is… oddly similar to Taiga.

His thoughts drift back to yesterday, before Rin stormed off. Her Servant, Archer, did much the same thing. It is easy to ascribe what he did to some sort of legend, but he has never heard of any hero who could spawn swords from air. Perhaps he is a Hero of the future, but the memories that bleed through to him in his sleep and the information the Grail dripped into him imply that though such powers do exist, most psykers tend to simply hurl thunderbolts and fireballs. Or other, more esoteric, more awful things.

A Hero that can summon swords from thin air is uncanny.

And there is something about him that seems… too familiar.

"Trace, on!"

Shirou projects another copy of the Tora-Shinai for some reason, down to the tiger chain on the hilt, leaps, and swings at Saber from above.

"Useless, useless, useless! You can't protect everyone with just this, Young Master!"

Saber snatches the Shinai out of the air, and shatters it in his grasp.

"I don't care about everyone! That's a hopeless wish!" Emiya Shirou hits the ground behind his Servant in a roll. "I just want to protect the people I care for!"

"Even if they hate you? Even if they want you dead?" Saber twirls on the ball of his foot, out the way of another Shinai, swung at the back of his neck. "Even if you die in the process?"

"Even then!" Shirou's arm pulses red as he blocks Saber's hook, and jabs forward straight at the gap between helmet and gorget. Saber slams it away with a twist of his torso, knocking the sword away and out of his hand. He forms a new one, and rolls away over his head. "If it is for the people I love, I will die with no regrets!"

The Crimson Servant rises up to his full height, and stands still. Kiritsugu tenses. This is the good part. His son might learn something.

"Even if your death makes them suffer more? Even if there are better ways to go about it?"

Shirou charges, and swings the Tora-Shinai at Saber's head so hard it shatters. The Chapter Master remains standing. He does not care. He does not even feel it. Panting, Emiya Shirou falls flat onto the matted floor. Kiritsugu notes that four may just be his current limit, or perhaps he isn't willing to test the extent yet.

"I know your type, Master. You are a martyr. You see no innate value to your own life compared to the lives of others." Lightly, he prods his Master in the chest. "Consider this, Master: your life has value, if only because those same people see value in _your_ life."

He wipes his sweat away, his chest still rising and falling heavily. Kiritsugu remains standing still. A moment passes in complete silence but for Shirou's breaths, his heart racing like a train.

"I know, Saber," he replies, still panting. "But there is nothing else I can do for Ilya."

"Then give up on her. She is a Master, just like any other. She is your enemy until proven otherwise."

"I refuse," he states through gritted teeth. "I won't give up on her. Not on the people I care about. Not before she knows the truth."

And once more, Kiritsugu feels a twinge in his old, cursed heart. Relief, that his son would push on for her sake. Guilt, that he caused this situation to begin with. And worry, that he would probably be maimed in the process.

"If you won't hunt her down then at least stay out of harm's way." Saber snorts. "You, Young Shirou, may someday become great. But today, you are a fool."

In the distance, a massive explosion rocks them out of the moment. Their heads snap in that direction, towards the south.

Kiritsugu speaks first, falling back into old routines, and takes control of the situation. "An attack?"

"No," Saber notes, pulling Shirou up. "Too far. It is not our fight. But I now have worries about the other Servants."

Shirou looks at him, eyebrow raised. "You can tell?"

"I have fought a galactic war for eight hundred years, and the ears of Astartes are sharper than most. That, Young Master, is the sound a Skyspear Missile makes when it explodes."

* * *

A lifeless steaming shell of ceramite and plasteel crashes into the driveway of the Matou Household, disincorporating into mana even as it cools. What little blue and gold that remains of its original heraldry has been blasted and burnt off by the force and heat of a direct Skyspear missile strike. Atop the household, Rider dismisses the Hunter-Pattern Rhino Anti-Air Artillery Platform atop the roof with a mere thought, his arms crossed and servo-arm whining.

He scowls under his helmet, the mark of the Gorgon on his chest and his pauldrons. That was a direct hit. But the Servant is not dead. He did not ascend to become Iron Father and _not_ learn to discern the putrid taste of heretic in the air. And this particular brand of heretic tastes of ink, parchment, and sand. The worst kind, the kind that should not be in this ritual.

A distance away, two households from Rider, a small tear in reality tears open, and Servant Caster steps out with the same significance in his step as a man leaving his home for work. He turns, ornate helmet and all, to Rider with golden sword drawn, and seals the spatial rift behind him with a twitch of his finger.

"You are an aberration, Caster," Rider snarls. His servo-arm twists, presenting the meltagun installed into its frame. He raises his hands in preparation for battle, and a Heavy Bolter pulls itself into existence and places itself in his firm grasp. "I will see to it that you are rectified."

"So the Son of the Gorgon says," Caster replies. One could hear the smug smile in his words, the way he states his vowels. He twirls the golden blade skillfully, and it blazes bright gold fire. "But the integrity of your words has faltered ever since your Primarch _died_."

Rider says nothing.

On the road, over the steaming pothole where a chestplate struck a crater, a boxy silver-grey transport steps out from the realm of impossibility and into factual reality. The aft weapon mount on the Razorback IFV shifts, segments pulling themselves into position, and reveal a twin-linked lascannon poised at the Thousand Son.

It fires, and twin beams of searing blue strike Caster and much of the roof he stands on from existence. The snap-crack of heavy anti-vehicle laser weapons ends almost instantly, and all Rider sees is charred steaming blackness where there was once a filthy heretic.

He turns, and fires a volley of bolt rounds down the road.

A dome of blue lightning forms, and Caster swats each bolt away like they are simply gnats.

"You wish to enter this home," Rider states evenly. It is not a question, but a statement. There is little doubt Caster would want the knowledge that his Master's strange ancestor has.

Caster tilts his head. "And you would stand in my way?"

Both their weapons are still drawn. There is little illusion in either of their minds that this will end in anything but violence.

"It is my duty, and one I carry out with pride." Looking imperiously upon Caster, he snorts. "And for once, I carry my duty with joy. You shall not get past me, Caster."

"The great Kardan Stronos would stand in my way?"

Rider does not even flinch. Let him know. The secrecy matters not. "Knowing that, you would continue your hopeless path?"

"I care not for the mewling of those who have not overcome the pain of their father's passing after ten thousand years." Behind Caster, a dozen blazing golden motes of light bloom into existence and then swell to the size of a man's fist. "Die screaming, Rider."

"You would mock the sacrifice of my Primarch?" The Iron Hand growls, and an additional heavy weapon platforms spawn by his command. Another Razorback, one armed with plasma cannons. A Thunderfire Cannon, beside him atop the roof. Sixteen Tarantula Automated Sentry Guns, each armed with twin-linked Heavy Bolters. Each of them, every last weapon, is slaved to Rider's mind and the target he has chosen.

Judgement will be swift.

"Die screaming, Caster."

That night, when the moon crests the sky, a second sun blooms in the south of Miyama Town.

* * *

"Nngh...A-A-Ahh...!"

She can feel them squirming. Sakura can feel them squirming under her skin. Writhing and flexing and wiggling. Her skin is flushed, her breathing is labored. She hates the feeling she gets, but she doesn't have a choice _._ She never gets a choice.

Nii-san can't use magic. There are probably still some latent mage circuits in him, but they are unactivated, atrophied, and worthless. And Servants like Rider are known to be extensive mana hogs; the 3rd and 4th Wars have proven that. Nii-san could never supply him on his own, and Rider refuses to feast off souls to power himself. It isn't surprising - Kardan Stronos, for his apathy, is still a guardian of mankind and hateful advocate of daemon genocide - but that has left them with… this alternative.

She refused to play the part of Master. Now she plays the part of prana source.

She hates it.

The worms squirm and she flushes hot every time Rider uses any prana.

Right now, the worms are agitating her so badly, she can barely think.

She just wants it to end, and for the War to be over.

 _Stop caring_

She… wants nee-san to save her.

 _Let it all go_

She wants senpai to help her.

 _Give yourself to me_

She wants anyone to help her.

But no one will.

* * *

The smoke clears, and Rider sees naught but ash and rubble where Caster once stood. The weaponry he summoned remains in existence, for though it is a heavy strain on his Master - his _other_ Master, the weak one - he has a suspicion.

Caster isn't dead. Not yet. Sorcerers are far too tricky to die to a mere salvo.

He swings about suddenly, a hammer manifesting in his hand, and clashes loudly against the flat of a golden blade behind him.

Caster smirks audibly, for his baroque helmet is many things, face-concealing amongst them. "Impressive, Iron Father. You noticed me."

Rider replies not with words but with action, and punches Caster hard enough to blow his left arm off under the shoulder. The Thousand Son does not seem to react, however, instead floating lazily away into the air.

Behind, beside, and all around them, Rider's weaponry all train themselves upon Caster, where red vitae drips from his arm-stump.

No, not vitae.

"But did you think it would be _this_ easy?"

 _Dust._

He twists, cursing the class container for stealing the instincts all Space Marines should have, but he is not fast enough.

A sword, simple but masterful in its craft, pierces his side, just shy of cutting apart his spine. If not for Battle Continuation, Kardan Stronos surely would have been defeated then and there.

But the Sons of the Gorgon are nothing if not enduring, and he opens fire upon the Rubric Marine in the air while also swinging savagely at the assailant behind him.

His hammer is blocked keenly by the same blood-licked blade that punctured his armor, already sealing itself with a feat of technology, and he sees him.

A giant in black and white, wielding a power sword of remarkable make. It would explain how it punctured his Terminator Armor, which should be proof to all but the mightiest arms. But the Grail is as cruel as it is kind, and his keen eye for technology tells him of something that should not be.

A Black Sword, in the hands of a black and white Space Marine?

"Bastard," he snarls, and pulls a Thunder Hammer into form. "You bind an Emperor's Champion to your thrall."

"Oh?" Caster reforms on a rooftop three houses away, but even now Rider cannot ensure he is _there._ He is as all Thousand Sons. Tricky, and possessed of no honor or pride. For those who cast aside flesh, they are weaker than those who still bear that sin. "You know who Assassin is, then?"

Hot, toxic anger flushes in his blood - or perhaps that is the poor facsimile of adrenaline his Grail-gotten body is producing - and he brings both hammers _down._

Thunder strikes twice upon the same spot, where the Black Templar - Assassin - once was.

But the Servant himself is quick, and far too canny for a mere familiar. He dodges, and now stands beside his master with none of the nobility or the bull-headed stubbornness a Son of Dorn should have. He has no love for the Imperial Fists and their siblings, but they are still fellow Space Marines. To see one perverted as such offends him on _every_ level.

"Pity," Caster sighs. "This place has nothing I want. You may live for now, Rider. Dwell more upon your dead liege."

Caster fades into dust, taking Assassin with him.

All that remains now is the ruins of battle, still steaming from weapon discharge.

Rider snorts under his breath, and dismisses every weapon and construct that he has called forth from the Armory he has been granted as a Rider. The drain must be immense upon the girl. She is weak, and sacrifices must be made for the Imperium. But it will do him no good if she expires because he lost his _temper._

His servo-arm clanks. He flexes his arms.

The damage of battle must be dealt with by sunrise.

And the other guilty joy that Kardan Stronos always bore was in repairing the ruin wrought by war, and restoring it whole and hale.

Numerous buildings, the road, and the rooftops have been blasted, burned, or worse.

He has much to tend to.

* * *

"Still nothing?"

Archer shakes his head, his eyes still focused elsewhere. Atop that same skyscraper - the one Archer insisted is a perfect vantage point and provides a clear view of the entirety of Miyama Town - Tohsaka Rin sighs and stuffs her hands deeper into her jacket pockets. Another day, another whiff. No signs of Masters _or_ Servants.

It sucked, because she really wanted this over and done with, and Archer's good enough that he trusts him to deal with anything they fight in the War. But at the same time, the peace let her ponder… things.

She felt bad about storming out last night, she really did. Emiya-kun needs her help, and he _wants_ her help. Saber's a good distraction for Archer, and having a Chapter Master on her side can only be a _good_ thing.

And he even bothered to make lunch for her. _Good_ lunch.

But Emiya Kiritsugu killed her father.

And as long as _he's_ alive, she can't accept working with Shirou.

Even though Shirou is adamant that Kiritsugu must have had a good reason to do it. Even though he might be right. But even then… even _then…_

She tries to be impartial, cold, distant, detached from her emotions. Sometimes she even succeeds. But she can't do that right now. Not for family.

Even if he just looks _so broken-_

"Argh!" She cups her head in her hands. "Dammit, dammit, dammit!"

"Rin, please," Archer says dryly. "People might hear."

"We're on top of a skyscraper surrounded by _nothing!_ If they can hear just _shoot them!"_

He looks back at her, brow furrowed, and folds his arms. "I think we should go. You can't fight like this, even _if_ we find someone."

And just like that, Rin deflates. "Yeah, that's… probably a good idea, Archer."

* * *

The moon hangs high in the dead of night, and the neighbourhood surrounding the Emiya residence is completely silent. Everyone is asleep, unaware of the battle royale that could sweep past their doorsteps at any moment. At present moment, Shirou is resting from being taught the basic principles of Space Marine swordplay - what Saber would call playing with knives, considering a Space Marine _sword_ is about as big as _he_ is.

Good. He doesn't need to know about this.

Halfway through the gate, Chapter Master Aurelius Asterion interrupts Kiritsugu with a stern clearing of his throat. He does not bother to turn around; not like Saber would care for the gesture.

"I expect you aren't going out for a smoke and beverage?" He says dryly, arms folded.

"Stay home," Kiritsugu says to him. "I need to do this."

"Do what, Young Kiritsugu? Give yourself up to your daughter?" He shakes his head. "She may stop, but she will remain a threat as long as the War progresses."

"I thought about it, but no." He sighs, and lets his shoulders slouch. What he is going to do will probably weigh heavily on him for weeks to come. He already doubts himself. "I'm looking for advice."

"Who from?" Saber snorts. "A Chaplain?"

"Kotomine Kirei," Kiritsugu clarifies. "So in a way, yes."

* * *

The gates to the church atop the hill creak open and, wearing a robe and slippers, Emiya Kiritsugu finds Kotomine Kirei looking from the door right at him, with the strangest smile upon his face.

"Less than twenty four hours after our previous talk," the priest muses. "You surprise me, Emiya."

Kiritsugu, for his part, simply walks straight in and sits down. "You expect me to talk?"

"No, Emiya Kiritsugu." His smile widens. "I expect you to _beg._ "

"...This is when I reveal I lined the church with explosives two years prior to the Grail War, _just_ in case I have to destroy it."

Kirei chuckles. "Have you?"

Kiritsugu leans back against the bench, arms stuffed in his pockets. "I wouldn't rule out the possibility."

The two men, the father who lost everything and the father who won everything, regard each other evenly. Even now, Kiritsugu wonders if this was the right decision to make.

A sigh, and Kiritsugu speaks up. "It is about our adorable Second Owner."

Kirei hums. "You wish to apologise to her _without_ being killed in a fit of hateful passion. In this, I can only advise that when you find her, bring Saber. He and Archer appear to have struck up a friendship in the middle of a death royale." He chuckles. "Such is the lot of a Space Marine."

"I am astonished you don't know how to talk to women."

"You are one to talk, Emiya Kiritsugu."

He does not react to the quip, and they continue matching eyes with each other. It is obvious that Kotomine Kirei now follows the Emperor, from the moment he summoned Assassin to the day he dies.

And this next request may be the last the two of them ever speak.

"...The second matter concerns my daughter."

"The Grail Vessel? I can hardly assist there. Berserker is rather a handful. Perhaps you can send a postcard containing a finger or two, to rouse her interest."

"No, I know how to talk to Ilya." Kiritsugu decides against stating how he'll _get_ to her. Breaking into Castle Einzbern will require preparation, if it comes to that. "You are the finest spiritual doctor in Japan."

"I am the _only_ spiritual doctor in Japan," Kirei corrects. He is probably correct; few take the time to learn the healing arts to such a degree, and the very best are part of the Association. "You would have me heal the scars in your soul?"

"Not even your Emperor could fix those wounds," he retorts, and Kirei simply shrugs in admission. "But the alterations to convert one into a Grail Vessel… could they be undone?"

Kotomine Kirei tilts his head slightly, his face unmoving, and Kiritsugu begins reconsidering his escape strategies. It is the Emperor's will that the Grail Wars commence, and Kotomine will enforce that desire. What he has suggested is tantamount to heresy.

The priest's smirk widens. "It has never been done before, Emiya Kiritsugu. But tell me, why would I even try?"

"Consider it an old man's wish to save what remains of his family."

"The Emiya Kiritsugu I knew would sacrifice one to save billions."

"The Emiya Kiritsugu you knew died in the Great Fire. I will _not_ let Ilya become the vessel for a Tainted Grail."

Kirei sighs, and shakes his head. "You disappoint me, Emiya. Are we reduced to repeating old arguments?"

"Saint Sabbat, however holy her cause, is but _one_ girl. The Holy Grail was corrupted by _two_ Avengers, the first of them the _Archheretic himself._ " Kiritsugu snorts. "I doubt anything short of another Primarch could purify the stain _he_ left. And nothing short of a direct catalyst - which do not yet exist - will summon one."

"You forget Rider, Emiya Kiritsugu, and your own Servant. Are they not Saints in their own right? Do their deaths not purify the Grail as well?"

"Did you forget Caster, whose plague continues to taint Shinto?"

He looks upon Kotomine with cold, mechanical fury, and the priest upon him with righteous indignation. Ten years ago, both men would have come to blows.

Now, they can only settle things with words.

"...Convince me, Emiya, or offer an alternative, and I will deign to try. Let it not be known that the Emperor - or his servants - are devoid of compassion." The priest's hands are clasped behind his back, no doubt readying Black Keys. "After all, the Emperor Protects."

Kiritsugu stands, hands still in his pockets, feeling the fragmentation grenade clasped in his fingers. "Then that will have to do."

* * *

 _She sees nothing, her vision surrounded by black regardless of whether her eyes are opened or closed. She feels her hot breath on her face every time she exhales. She is standing, hands tied behind her back, head bowed._

 _The bag over her head is lifted abruptly, and she sees the gallows before her and an audience opposite her. She sees numerous faces, none of whom she recognises. Men and women, young and old, strong and weak. She sees all of them._

" _You are deemed guilty of murder, treason, attempting to incite a civil war, and a dozen other crimes against humanity," an old gruff man states, standing behind a podium, wearing the black vestments of the Law. "The punishment is death. What are your last words?"_

 _She laughs, and her voice is distinctively deep and strong. It is almost familiar. "I have no regrets."_

 _What is going on? Why is she here? Why is she being accused of crimes she did not commit and executed?_

 _Is this even a dream?_

 _Men grab her by the arms, and tie the noose around her neck. She wants to scream, to thrash, to fight against her fate with all her might. But her body refuses to obey her, and simply waits while the rope tightens against her throat._

 _Her eyes are on the floor. Her pulse quickens. The audience is deathly quiet._

 _There is no escape._

" _May you do better in the next life."_

 _The floor falls away from her feet-_

Tohsaka Rin wakes up screaming.

* * *

Archer opens his mouth to bid his Master a sarcastic 'good morning' when he hears footsteps on the stairs, but one look at her indicates that no, any sort of sass right now would likely be met with a command seal-backed order of a murder-suicide. Red eyes, slouched posture, murmured threats of violence? It was pretty telling.

So when she throws herself upon the couch and he sets the tea tray down before her, he does what a Servant does best.

"Morning, Rin. Sweet dreams?"

Sass their Master.

"Mrghl," Rin grunts - she couldn't have said it, because her lips didn't move at all - downs an entire cup of piping hot tea, and falls against her lap. "Muhhhh…"

His smirk widens, but he derives no pleasure from this. She isn't even _reacting._ This isn't the Rin he knows. "Dream of the kid?"

She grunts again, and is content to remain limp like a broken puppet.

By Alaya, it's worse than he thought.

She screamed when she woke up, too. Maybe she… saw his memories. Probably one of the more traumatic ones, too.

...Hopefully not one of the more traumatic ones.

He needs to act fast. If she puts the pieces together too soon, there will be hell to pay. She needs to be distracted, and in a constructive manner.

...Saber did the thing where he chopped the back of Rin's neck, and flushed the grogginess from her system instantly. He can try it out. He saw how he did it.

Walking over beside the Second Owner, he raises his hand.

"Hold still, Rin. I know how to fix this."

* * *

The next moment, there was much more screaming.

And Archer knew that he had done it wrong.

* * *

Counter Guardian EMIYA has fought many terrible beasts, killed countless vile human warlords, and even fought against the daemonic denizens of the Warp in a deployment or two. But, quite frankly, Tohsaka Rin screaming at him incoherently until her face turned red rattled him the most.

Not because she was especially scary or anything - Rin is adorable when she's angry - but because Archer fucked up, and he knew _how_ he fucked up.

As it turns out, he hit a chakra point too hard, and it closed so hard Rin can't open it - or most of her circuits - anymore.

"WHY?!"

At least she wasn't groggy anymore.

"You looked so pitiful I felt the need to torment you a bit more," is his coy reply as he smirks in a Kotomine-esque fashion. Frankly speaking he feels _awful_ \- and not just because his prana source just got cut down to a fifth the original capacity - but damn if he's not going to milk it.

"DO YOU _REALISE_ HOW MUCH THIS HURTS?!"

Archer didn't respond, but as a matter of fact it's happened once or twice. "A Magus of your caliber should be able to fix this, or at least know someone who can."

"I am _not_ eating one of my A-rank jewels just to force open something that _should never have closed._ " She points at him, almost snarling, and jabs him repeatedly in the chest. "I'll visit Kirei after school, but if anything happens _you're responsible._ "

Archer smirks. "Aren't I always?"

"Not especially!" She moves to smack him in the face a little, but winces when she moves her arms a bit too high. "Dammit this is going to hurt all day… Why would you _do_ that?!"

"Well, Master," he grins, "Aren't you glad you summoned an Archer now?"

Rin screams again, incoherently, and storms off to school.

The moment she's out of the room, Archer smiles. Genuinely, not a bitter and sarcastic expression like most of his smiles.

He's going to pay for this in a short while, but at least Rin is acting like Rin again.

* * *

Class started five minutes ago, and while Fuji-nee went on with homeroom, Emiya Shirou decided to do a roll call of his own.

Shinji wasn't in class, for some reason. Apparently, he called in sick earlier that day. Knowing the guy he's probably playing truant, going off to an arcade or something. That guy is not going to graduate with anything remotely resembling decent results, but that's his own business. He could help him if he wanted… but Shinji wouldn't want that. Something about pride.

Yukko and Mai were at the back of the class, clowning about again - well, more accurate to say that Yukko was clowning around, while Mai just trolled everyone. Mio was doodling in her notebook. Probably something weird, if what structural analysis told him the last time he took a peek.

Akihisa was sleeping, and Minami was looking at him with a blush. Yuji was trying to nail him with paper planes.

No big change there.

His homework is in order - and he checked this time - so math with Nishimura-sensei should be good. Fuji-nee was handing out their test results later that day, and he studied for this one so it should be good. Kuzuki-sensei wanted that paper on colonialism in Southeast Asia written by Friday, which he finished off yesterday after Saber beat sword skills into him with the back of his hand, so _that's_ clear…

Guh. Why was he thinking of all this right now? There was a Holy Grail War going on right now. Tohsaka looked haggard when she strolled in through the front gates today. Saber was off in the distance, overseeing the entire school and about twenty seconds out. Archer was probably at another vantage point, or maybe even with him. There was the whole Ilya debacle to settle, and right now he's not even sure if Tohsaka will be okay with lunch on the roof again. The way she looks, the Red Devil may well set him on fire with her eyes.

And right now, Fuji-nee looked a bit paler than usual. She looked pretty pale during breakfast, actually. It worried him then and it worries him now, but nothing could go wrong there, right? The last time Fuji-nee got sick was seven years ago, and that's because she got caught up in that freak blizzard in Shinto right after a competition. Fujimura Taiga does not _get_ sick. She's one of the most freakishly healthy people he knows.

Maybe she worked late.

Shirou looks out the window, letting Fuji-nee's words enter one ear and out the other - something about freak weather patterns and how everyone should be careful at night - and pondered. He liked Tohsaka, and he liked Luvia. Ilya's his sister, and he wants her and Kiritsugu to reconcile. The Matou might still be involved in the war, as dad mentioned last night, so he needs to make sure Sakura - who didn't come to breakfast today either - was okay…

...And if the Matou are involved he _really_ should've considered that maybe Shinji is a Master too. Hell, for all he knew Kuzuki-sensei was a Master.

...Nah. That is probably just his imagination.

He fished for his notebook, intending to note down everything, when he heard something weird.

Something… whistling.

What in the…?

 _Master._ Saber's voice is urgent and concise. _Do as I say, and nothing but._

What in the-

 _Duck._

Half a second later a Space Marine Attack Bike punches through the window, sails across the classroom, and falls through the floor.


End file.
